Scattering Sand
by mimic shalle
Summary: [Complete] It takes one ridiculous job for Rush to get another taste of his old life, and an errand from Ghor for David to be unwittingly confronted with possibilities he did not wish to prepare for. DaSh even if you don't squint. Rated T for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Written while on crack. This should take place during the six-month grace period. I took liberties on Rush's physique so expect some changes, but not that exaggerated (or maybe it is–_shrugs_–but no pointing please, this is how I like my ukes/subs. _Deal with it_).

**Summary:** It takes one ridiculous job for Rush to get another taste of his old life, and an errand from Ghor for David to be unwittingly confronted with possibilities he did not wish to prepare for. Two-part intermission. _DaSh_ even if you don't squint. Rated T for a reason.

* * *

**Scattering Sand**

**Part I: Rush**

* * *

**Act I: Idea**

"_A mediocre idea that generates enthusiasm will go further than a great idea that inspires no one." – _Mary Kay Ash

**:::**

Rush chewed the rim of his cup, deeply regretting spending his weekend in Balterossa. If he had known he'd end up with Caedmon and the twins, he would have kept walking till he reached Baaluk. The sovani and the girls were getting along a little too much on ganging up on him.

"Just saying. If you don't want to get teased, go get yourself a tan. You're as white as a bean curd."

He didn't exactly know how their friendly catching up ended with them teasing him about his nonexistent feminine looks. It just snowballed right after Hannah asked what his secret was for callous free hands—and heck if he knew! It was a mystery for him too, now that she mentioned it.

"'Em not," Rush grumbled.

Hannah and Caedmon had the nerve to stifle a laugh.

"I'm sorry Rush, but I have to agree with her. You're awfully too pale for a boy," Hannah said, her smile annoyingly apologetic.

"Too pretty for one too," Hinnah smirked, sipping her ale. "Makes me envious."

Rush turned to Caedmon for help, hoping that whatever friendship they had would tide him to his side, but the sovani's eyes had that same mischievous glint as their other two companions.

"I have received a request for a security team," Caedmon said in a stride. There was something foreboding with the sudden change of subjects. "I could use some more men for it."

Hannah wrinkled her brows. "But I thought the Silver Falcons do not take mercenary work?"

"We don't. A request is hardly mercenary in nature, Miss Hannah." Caedmon paused as if thinking of what to say next. "It's from an old acquaintance of mine, actually. Someone I am indebted to."

"_Ooh_, how very curious," Hinnah teased. "_You_? Owing a debt? Not something I hear every day. Mind sharing?"

"Perhaps when we are all part of the same _nest_, Miss Hinnah."

"_Che._ Don't you mean _litter_?" Hinnah mumbled. "…So what's the princess's part in this?" she jabbed a thumb at Rush's direction, ignoring all his indignant splutters. "And please don't tell me it's only guard duty, that'd make it pretty boring kitty-cat."

"I need someone mingling in the crowd."

"As a…?" Hannah urged.

Caedmon plucked a grape from their fruit platter and then popped it into his mouth, Rush prayed he'd choke on it. "A cupbearer."

The twins exchanged rapid glances then burst out laughing, one giggling the other guffawing. Rush felt the tips of his ears warming from embarrassment, he didn't even know what was so amusing. "Stop laughing you two! I don't see what's so funny about it!"

"_Hehe_, I'm sure you'll make a cute little waitress."

"_Hah? _What's that got to do with being a cupbearer?" he frowned. "And stop laughing already!"

"Let's just say that in Balterossa it's a gender specific occupation," Hannah giggled.

Rush stared, opening and closing his mouth unable to put into words how unbelievable they were. The sovani joined the laughing she-demons.

"I said stop laughing!" he finally blurted out. "I haven't agreed yet, and for the last time! I don't look like a girl!"

"You may want to reconsider. It's for a clan gathering and the guest of honour is… he's from Athlum."

Rush scowled, crossing his arms. That was low. Caedmon knew he wouldn't be able to refuse if he put that on the table. "So? I don't see why I should cross dress for it."

"If you can breathe fire then you are free to join the hired performers."

"_Breathe fire_?" He can conjure fire, but breathe? He was no dragon. "What the hell? Don't they have ordinary male staff?"

Hinnah patted Rush on the back, her guffaws dying down to mere chuckles. "Sorry _princess_ but that's not how Balterossa rolls. Have you ever seen any manservant 'round here?"

"The bartender?"

"Yah, and he's also the owner. Doesn't count."

"Speak human, Hinnah."

"What my sister meant to say, Rush, is that women do the mundane things here—serving duties," Hannah explained. "Quite surprising especially since Balterossa is ruled by a woman, but that's _h-mm..._ customs for you."

Hinnah downed the rest of her ale. "_Yadda-yadda-yadda_. That's good and all—but we don't get to see the princess in action," she pouted as she set her cup down with a thud. "Shame."

"I bet he will be fetching in the traditional garbs, too," Hannah shared her twin's pout.

Caedmon regarded the twins, perfectly coming off as nonchalant. "Whoever said that the offer was only extended to the lovely Sykes?"

Hannah and Hinnah shared squeals of delight and Rush could only gape at the sovani.

"_Caedmon!_"

* * *

**Act II: Ignorance**

"_Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."_ – Martin Luther King

**:::**

Before the crack of dawn, Rush and the girls were made to sit around the dining table at Caedmon's home for the briefing. The sovani was to report to his 'acquaintance', a certain Kamila-something-something, at exactly seven in the morning while they were expected to follow in the afternoon, posing as part of the newly hired servants due to arrive the same day. Caedmon had already intercepted the real ones, and had them stay in an inn until the gathering was over. Kamila preferred she didn't know who the members of team were, element of surprise and all that.

Just as Caedmon finished his briefing, Hannah grabbed her purse and bolted out of the sovani's home saying something about errands to make while Hinnah dragged Rush to the bathroom. The she-demon was about to follow him inside, but he pushed her out and locked the door before she even had time to react. _Fine_, he accepted that he would be subjected to much humiliation till the novelty wears off, but he'd be damned if he let her bathe him like some hapless damsel in one of Irina's icky, mushy books.

With a deep sigh, Rush padded across the room to the brass tub in the far corner, the stone floor cold under his feet. The water was already drawn for him, steam rising from the glassy surface in winding ribbons. He tested the water with a hand before dipping in, easily settling into the large tub, sliding his back on the side till his head rested on the edge. There were three lit candles on the end table beside him, puffing out a relaxing scent of wild flowers. It must have been Hannah, he smiled. The time when Hinnah started caring for another will be the time when Emmy and Blocter started having an affair.

"Want some flower petals in there too, princess?"

Rush's eyes snapped open, his hands immediately diving southwards. "_Hinnah!_ What are—"

"_A __Mháthair_," Hinnah rolled her eyes. "You are such a little virgin."

"That's not the point!" he spluttered, his face hot. "How the heck did you get in here!"

Hinnah took out a small, slim iron stick from her pocket, grin widening as she wagged the blasted thing at him, "Lock pick, ever used one?"

"_No_. And not planning to. Now get out!"

"Relax will you? I just wanted to give you these," Hinnah held out a bucket full of multi-coloured vials. "You threw me out before I could dump them in your bath."

"Well you can leave it right there, so get out. _Now._"

Hinnah raised a brow then sauntered towards him, uncapping a ruby red vial with her mouth as she did so. "Where's the fun in that?"

"_Hinnah!_"

"Geez Sykes, relax. You're not my type," she said easily, pouring the contents of the vial to the water. It only took a quick moment before the water was overrun with thick suds of white bubbles. "My special mix. Nice, yah?"

Rush's eye twitched. "A lot nicer if you get out."

"On second thought, I'll help you clean up."

Rush was about to demand that she get the hell out when he suddenly felt her hand curl around his nape. Her spindly cold fingers made him contort instinctively, and an irrational fear made his heart skip a beat. If this b—

"I said. _Relax_. You're being too overdramatic. I don't eat little boys for breakfast, yah?" she whispered in his ear then loosened her hold.

Hinnah busied herself with the vials, picking two apple green ones from the bunch. "Hannah and I used to do this all the time for our very important person… I feel like doing it for you. So consider yourself lucky."

Rush rubbed his neck warily, barely paying attention to the girl. What the hell was that? It wasn't like Hinnah was going to try anything funny. Sure, he was surprised, but for him to actually want to cause serious harm over her little teasing? Hinnah was a friend. He shouldn't be thinking of ripping her arm off just because of that… But if she had held on a second longer he would have done just that. It scared him.

"You suck," he grumbled, raising the white flag for now.

Hinnah threw her head back and laughed. "Haven't heard that in coon's ages! You really are precious, princess. Now scoot over a little so I can wash you properly."

Reluctantly, Rush did as he was told while Hinnah worked up a lather. He expected her to scrub his skin off, but surprisingly, she was quite gentle about the whole thing. Her hands were lightly tracing circles across his back, pressing specific spots that was really–_oh, wow_, _that felt kind of good_. Slowly, he began not to mind her intrusion too much.

"So, who was she?" he asked, attempting small talk.

"Who is who? Here," Hinnah gave a wash cloth to him. "Be a little more specific, princess."

"I mean that girl you used to take care of."

"What makes you think he's a girl?"

Rush stopped scrubbing his arm. "He's a boy? But—"

"Gender is hardly an issue back home, are you done with that? Or do you want me to do it for you too?"

"I can manage," he replied hurriedly. "So he didn't mind that you're—"

"A woman? Of course not. I told you, it wasn't an issue. He'd only whine when we insisted on following him everywhere."

He handed the washcloth back, and Hinnah draped it on the rim of the bucket. "What? Are you guys his babysitters or something?"

Hinnah fished another vial, this time yellow. "I like the word 'caretakers' better, has a more mature ring to it. His brother's quite the worry wart, you see… reason why we were needed. Rest your head on the edge."

Rush tilted back his head as Hinnah quickly worked with his hair. "So what happened to him? Why aren't you taking care of him now?"

Hinnah stopped her ministration. "He's... _sick_. Can't remember anyone." She peered over him, white hair falling to the sides of her face. "It's quite frustrating every time we're with him. It's especially hard on his brother. They can't even have a decent chat, and I know he's just dying to sit down and talk."

"Oh... Any luck finding a cure?"

Hinnah clicked her tongue.

"No? Maybe I can ask someone about it. Pagus should know something."

"He used to have long hair," Hinnah replied instead, holding strands of his hair between her thumb and forefinger. Rush guessed it was her way of telling him to drop it, but just in case, he'll ask Pagus about the matter. "Well, I'm done. Soak up for a while before you rinse. Clean water's over there," she said, pointing at a couple of urns at the end of the tub. "But, I can rinse you too."

Rush shook his head vehemently, "No–I'm good."

Hinnah snorted. "Admit it. It wasn't as bad as you thought."

Rush blew over the suds of bubbles, maybe he should get some of this stuff for Dave and Irina.

"Fine, I'll leave you and your modesty alone. I hanged your clothes on the door, yell if you need help." Hinnah picked up her bucket and left him be.

**:::**

After Rush had painstakingly rinsed off Hinnah's bubbly concoction, another dilemma had followed.

The clothing she left him was… _strange_. It consisted of a sleeveless blouse that much to his exasperation would only reach until his midriff, a flowy skirt with embroidered leaf patterns and a piece of transparent blanket edged with thick, black floral lace; the set had a bottle green theme going on. Frankly, he didn't have any problems with them—there were worst things he could end up with—the thing that really got his head reeling was the underwear. He already had his normal white undies on, but what in the God Emperor's name was _this_?

Staring him in the face was probably the scariest thing he'd ever seen. The monstrosity resembled a corset. Only it was a third of the length, had small clasps at the back and a strip of thin, noodle-like strap stitched on each side. Probably something Mom would wear... He wouldn't freak out so much if it ended there, but the thing had a pair of filled water skins glued on each breast cup.

He poked the piece of clothing–? _Gear_?–expecting it to come alive and bite him. It didn't. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? _Wear_ it?

"Hey princess! You died in there? I still have to do your mehndi," Hinnah yelled from behind the door, knocking impatiently.

"Uh, just a sec."

"You've been there over an hour! Henna's a pain in the ass to dry, and Hannah's expecting it done before she returns."

"Ye-ah..." he replied weakly, unsure of what to do... but what should he do? He can't–_doesn't _want to wear this thing!

"_Rush Sykes__!_"

Rush panicked, his eyes darting from the door to the offending material. Hinnah gave a final hard knock before the door suddenly opened in a wide swing, making him stumble back to his rear.

"_Hinnah__!_"

Instead of teasing him about his state of undress, Hinnah marched up to him with heavy purposeful steps, clearly exasperated. "I can't even trust you to wear your clothes. What were you doing here? You're only in your underwear still!"

Rush flinched, she sounded too much like Mom when she was mad.

"Stand up, stand up!" Hinnah yanked him up, and then grabbed the corset-thing in one quick swipe. "You're always like this! I don't know if you're doing this on purpose or what, but wait till–"

He prepared himself when she stopped her tirade, squeezing his eyes shut. Hinnah looked angry enough to fling a raptor at him. Seconds ticked by, and nothing. He dared a peek at the girl, only to see her simmering down. "_Hee_... Hinnah?"

"Just. Just hold still," she sighed.

He didn't move a muscle, feeling guilty.

Hinnah slid a strap on each arm, and then reached behind him to clasp the hooks together. The thing felt tight and uncomfortable around his chest, but he didn't let out a peep of protest.

He hoped that Hinnah would stop being so quiet, but she only continued her work wordlessly. Securing the skirt just above his hips, tying up the back laces of the blouse, cutting a loose thread… The whole thing didn't even seem to last ten minutes. When she was finished, she folded the blanket before handing it over to him and motioned for him to follow to the kitchen.

"Sit there," Hinnah pointed at the head chair. "Hands on the table."

Hinnah made a turn towards the counter where bowls of ink and a line of neatly arranged paint brushes were waiting. She picked up a bowl and a pair of fine tipped brushes, tucking one behind her ear as she sat to the next chair across him. Setting her ink bowl where she could reach it, she turned his hand around and started to paint from the base of his palm.

Rush watched in awe as a vine of leaves and flowers started to form from seemingly simple strokes. The pattern ran diagonally across his palm up to the tip of his index finger.

"It's alright to breathe, princess," Hinnah said as she painted a small blossoming flower on each fingertip. "I'd make something more detailed, but we're supposed to be servants."

"Oh."

Hinnah blew over his palm before reaching for the other to repeat the process. "For a vigilante, that cat sure is living quite lavishly."

"Erm, really?"

"Yes, really. Look at the furniture, only rich snobs have divans and animal rugs... The house itself. I mean two floors for a single human? Like seriously? He even has a well. I won't be surprised if he has a servant hiding in his basement, and speaking of, he has basement too! A wine cellar at that! I mean what the hell, right?"

Rush tried not to laugh, but a wayward chuckle escaped him. Hinnah gave him the evil eye, but it only made him laugh harder.

"Hey, I'm trying here, and stop moving you damn brat."

"All right, all right, but you sound a lot like Khrynia back then," Rush said, calming down. "So, uhm, you're not angry anymore?"

"One, I don't know who 'Khrynia' is, and two, _me_? _Angry at you_?" Hinnah stopped painting to stare at him, her expression incredulous. "Frustrated maybe, but angry? That's Hannah's forte."

"But you…"

"Time of the month."

Rush formed an 'o' with his mouth. That explains it. Irina and Mom and Emmy become really weird at least once a month. "So, uh, Caedmon's house isn't normal?"

"Not that it's that unusual–I don't care where he spends his coin—the well just threw me off. Water's hard to come by in Balterossa, and having your personal birdbath costs quite a fortune."

"...Well Caedmon's the leader of the Falcons."

"Yes, I'm well aware, but that has little to do with it. It's his benefactor." Hinnah blew over his newly painted palm, resting it on the table. "Feet," she said, patting her lap. "It's so obvious, really. It's not a secret that Kamila favours Caed's little group."

"So?"

Hinnah hiked his skirt up to his knees, raising an eyebrow. "Someone's been shaving their legs. What about your armpits?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. So what if Kamila likes Caedmon?"

"Hairless as a babe, can you get more girly? Oh yes, you have narrow shoulders too," she teased as she began to paint the sole of his foot, making him squirm a little. "Kamila's the current head of the Abd Al Rashid."

"_Al-who_?"

"Clueless as ever," Hinnah sighed, shaking her head. "The Abd Al Rashid is the most influential clan in the south, hell, all over frankly… old blood and all. They've been around since Flaumello's time, maybe even before."

"If they're so great, why aren't they in charge of Balterossa?"

"Don't know, don't care, but if you ask me, their place is the place to be. Being a merchant has its own merits, especially with their particular trade."

"Of?"

"_Weapons_. The wines and spices and whatever sundry things they sell are only a front. They make the sturdiest, pointiest swords and things that go _boom_ in your face, and then sell it to the highest bidder." Hinnah switched to his other foot. "Can you just imagine what that means?"

Rush shook his head. "...But doesn't each town have their own smithy? I mean Dave has a few, and so what if they make explosives? They can't match Gae Bolg or other Remnants or mystic arts."

Hinnah suddenly exploded into a laughing fit. "Oh that's priceless! How could _I _miss that? You are so going to get the shock of your little virgin life!"

"Hey!" he snapped, more suspicious than offended. It was as if she knew something that he should. "I was asking nicely, and yes! I get it. I'm a virgin. _Move on_."

"Fine, fine, but just so you know, Kamila's nephew is the guest of honour," she said, resuming her work. "Anyway, I agree that no mere human can compare to a Remnant, but what if? What if Remnants suddenly get tired and stop following humans—stop working? And mystic arts? They're not for everyone. Even if you have an affinity for it, you can't count on your magical reserves to hold out infinitely."

"Well... it's not like there's a war, why would anyone need them?"

"...Because there are monsters as big as castles and never ending swarms of jhanas? And it's not like the lords share a pint of cheap ale every afternoon. Their treaties are worth shit. They'd jump at the first chance to tear at each other to better themselves off. Honestly, do you even pay attention?"

Rush didn't want to answer that.

"Naivety's fine and all, but don't be blind to what's happening around you." Hinnah placed her brush on the table and then wiped her hands with a cloth. "Staying with that blond pretty boy will do you no good. You don't belong with them. They're already running circles around you and you don't even know it."

Rush frowned. "Dave's not like that. He won't do that. He will never do that to me..."

"He's only a human."

Hinnah patted his ankle before she stood up, resting his feet on her chair. "Stay there, understood? I don't want you smudging anything. We'll continue after my bath."

* * *

**Act III: Bonds**

**:::**

Rush made sure he was at the exact same position when Hinnah returned to the kitchen, drying her hair with a towel and already wearing the identical set of clothes. She didn't look impressed and grabbed his hands for inspection. Poking and prodding her designs, nodding then and again, she seemed satisfied with it.

Pulling another chair, Hinnah set out to work on the back of his hands. She painted a bold outline of a triangle, its base on his wrist and its tip opening up to the base of his index finger, before she started to fill it out with swirls of leaves and flowers. After filling the outline up to the tip of his finger, she painted a bracelet-like pattern around his wrist, connecting the vine on his palm to it. She was almost finished with his other hand when Hannah came bouncing into the kitchen with a large paper bag held in one arm.

"Oh, you're still not done," she said, placing the bag on the table.

"Did you manage to find a wig?"

Hannah sank dramatically into the chair opposite her sister's, "Oh you wouldn't believe the trouble I've been through just to get it!"

Hinnah rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath. "Oh please, do tell."

"Did you know that I've been to every salon looking for one? '_We don't have black hair, sorry_,' they say."

"So you didn't find a wig?" Rush hoped.

"Don't worry your pretty little head Rush, I managed to get one just for you," Hannah grinned, opening the bag to take out a thick mop of wavy black hair.

"Where did you get it?" Hinnah asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"From a..." she trailed off, giving him a sideways glance. "Let's just say someone was willing to sell their hair in the market."

"That's hard to imagine... Irina spends hours fussing over hers."

"Ah yes, but people make business out of this. The mitra I met grows hers just for that purpose." Hannah draped the wig over her arm and held it out to him. "See? Isn't it soft and shiny?"

Rush was about to reach for it when Hinnah pinched his leg. "No touching! And you! Go take your bath. We'll be done when you come back."

"As you wish, sister dearest," Hannah hummed then ruffled his head. "After I'm done with you, you will be so pretty."

Rush cringed at Hannah's ominous words. ...He must have really pissed someone to deserve this. The only consolation he had was that his family and Dave were thousands of miles away from Balterossa.

Hinnah made do with her promise and speeded up painting his feet. She painted the similar pattern of flowers and leaves, the vines running diagonally across each foot, and added a curvy flower petal on each toe. When she was done, she cleaned her hands then started painting on her own foot just in time for Hannah to come back.

Like her sister, Hannah already had her disguise on, but her hair was already braided in a tight bun. The transparent blanket was also fixed a little above her hairline, serving as a veil... _oh_, so it was a veil not a blanket.

Hannah gave a twirl, smiling pleasantly at both of them. "Pretty isn't it? The family will be wearing something more extravagant, but this is still pretty all the same."

"_Please_. Whatever silk they're wearing wouldn't make a difference," Hinnah dismissed, not looking up from her work. "A mitra's still a mitra at the end of the day."

"Hey, Rush look at this." Hannah took out a lily shaped hairclip and offered it to him with her palms. It looked like it was made out of shells. "Doesn't it look pretty? I'll put this on your hair later."

"Uh, yeah..." Rush wasn't sure if he should be more concerned over the utterly girly accessory, or how Hannah kept on saying _pretty_.

Hinnah paused from her work to look at the clip. "I guess that makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"Wearing that clip's like saying you're hitched. Off limits," she replied. "It's like an engagement ring."

"Huh? But–but I'm not!"

"Exactly," Hannah patted him on the head. "As much as I want to break their necks if they do anything untoward you, I'd rather not blow our covers."

Hinnah snorted. "As if you won't if someone did dare."

"Self defence, surely Mr. Caedmon would understand."

Both sisters shared a laugh, Rush on the other hand couldn't understand why he should wear it instead of them. "You guys should wear it."

"Do you know what to do if someone cops a feel?" Hinnah countered.

"Well, no... but I'm a guy."

"And we're the only ones who know, but your choice. Just don't come crying when all of Balterossa finds out their national hero's a cross dresser."

"You're sweet Rush, but don't worry about us," Hannah said. "Hinnah and I can take care of ourselves. Now let me make you even more pretty."

Rush groaned at the news. _Oh boy_...

Hannah pinned his hair away from his face and bounded it with a black cap-thingy, before securing the wig on his head. When she was fixing the wig he swore she was turning his head into a pin cushion as she pushed pin after pin to keep the wig in place. After the last pin was practically embedded in his head, Rush thought Hannah was finished, but the unhappy turn of her mouth told him otherwise.

"Give him a fringe," Hinnah said. "That one like Cecelia's, remember her?"

With her twin's advice Hannah ransacked Caedmon's kitchen drawers for a pair scissors. Rush prayed real hard she wouldn't find one, he didn't need another jab against his masculinity, but someone out there really hated him. Hannah found not just one scissor, but two. Picking one, she proceeded to give him a fringe that ended just above his brows. Hinnah hummed at the result, but Hannah still didn't look satisfied.

Hinnah stared at her twin, "What?"

"I should have put the makeup first."

"It's fine, fix his hair first then put the makeup. You still don't have your mehndi."

"Wait-wait! Don't I get a say in this?" Rush blurted out. When was this decided? They didn't mention any makeup last night.

"Oh, I already had it done in the market, see?" Hannah showed her hand to Hinnah. "While I was waiting for the wig. Half or full?"

"Half, it's a waste to braid it all up."

..._Fine_, _whatever_. They can do all their girly stuff, like he cared or anything. He already sank this low, what was a little more makeup? ..._Cruel world_.

Hannah brushed the wig, parting it into two portions. She braided the upper half, twisting and looping locks of hair till she made some kind of bundle, and left the lower half as it is. After clipping the newly cut fringe up, Hannah fetched a small basket of paint brushes with different shaped tips and small white, cloth covered tubs.

Hannah rubbed some kind of lotion all over his face. It felt a little sticky at first, but slowly it made his skin tingle, like the skin had just been stretched. She dabbed a flat tipped brush on a tub of green powder, instructing him to close his eyes. He felt the brush going over and over on his eyelids, and after a while he felt something a little thick applied right around the edges of his eyelids.

"Open your eyes and look up to the ceiling, Rush."

Out of the corner of his eye, Rush saw Hannah dab her brush in a tub of black stuff. "What's that—"

"I said look up."

Hannah began to draw on his lower eyelid. Rush tried his best, but the whole thing was uncomfortable as hell that he couldn't stop his eyes from tearing up. "Wait, you're poking my eye," he said, reaching to wipe the wayward tears.

Hannah grabbed his wrist. "Don't. Let me." She dabbed a linen cloth below his eyes then resumed where she left off. This time around, she was more careful on how she used her brush.

"It's coming together," Hinnah whistled behind her sister.

Hannah replaced the black stuff with a tub of pink paste that smelled of bloodroot and berries. She swiped some of the paste onto the tip of her ring finger then held his jaw with the other hand. "Open your mouth a bit," she said, opening hers as if to serve as an example. She applied a couple of layers of the paste over his lips then beamed at her handiwork. "There, finished."

"And just in time for the henna to dry," Hinnah said. "C'mon princess, let's wash your hands and feet."

Feeling exhausted already, Rush followed Hinnah to the sink and let her do as she pleased. She dried his hands and feet with a towel then made him go back to Hannah to have his veil fixed on.

Hannah fixed the veil in a matter of seconds. When she unclipped the fringe and slid the lily-shaped hairclip on the side of his head, she finally, _finally _said he was good to go.

Rush sank into his chair, thankful that the two were finally done treating him as their dress-up doll. Now all he had to do was to wait for them finish up so they can follow Caedmon to Kamila's estate.

"Oh, I forgot something!" Hannah gasped, making Rush jump back into attention. "You still have to put these on," she said and slid fake gold bangles and anklets on his wrists and ankles, and fastened a black lace choker around his neck herself. "There, done. Just sit there and relax, we'll be done in a second too."

Not trusting her words, Rush watched the girls like a skull-scavenger. They were busy colouring their faces, but he just can't be too sure. Hinnah caught him staring as she was finishing applying the same pink paste on her lips. She grinned wickedly then suddenly ran to his side, squishing their cheeks together, visistone held in front.

"Smile princess!"

"No fair! I want in too!"

Rush didn't even have time to react before Hannah darted behind them, positioning herself to his free side. He was about to complain, but one look at their bright smiles made him swallow whatever protests he had. The things he do for his friends he said to himself, and gave a small, awkward smile of his own.

**:::**

Slipping the cloth slippers on, Rush waited for the twins by the door. They've been bickering for the better part of the hour regarding their Nightblooms. Hinnah was convincing Hannah that they should bring them along, but Hannah was not hearing any of it and Rush silently agreed with her. Sure they were kick ass swords, but they weren't exactly portable. Times like this made him thankful he didn't need to rely on a weapon thanks to Mom's talisman. He had put the little Remnant on earlier, tucking it under his _blouse_ before the girls noticed.

"I can't leave her with that idiot," Hinnah growled as she and Hannah joined him in the front porch.

"It's Young, or you leave Azureblade here."

Rush wondered who Young was, the name sounded familiar.

"You're seriously leaving Crimson in his care?"

"Better him than here."

"Well shit. If we only borrowed the tablet–"

Hannah whipped her hand to Hinnah, squeezing the sides of her face, expression calm. "Stop flapping your mouth, sister."

"What tablet?" Rush interrupted, trying to prevent anything more serious from happening.

"Just a trinket," Hannah dismissed, letting her twin go. "Let's go, Young's... ah. He said he's waiting for us at the square."

Hannah grabbed his hand and led him hurriedly out of the door, almost making him stumble. Looking back at Hinnah, he mouthed if she was okay. Hinnah only nodded, closing the door behind her.

Their walk from Caedmon's house to the market was peppered with Hinnah's constant grumblings, whining that her soles were getting fried. Rush only chalked it up with normal female temperaments. He knew it was hot, but it wasn't that hot. Though, when they reached the shaded marketplace, both sisters gave a sigh of obvious relief making him rethink his earlier thoughts.

The square was at the bottom of the market, and what could have been an uneventful walk was ruined because of Hinnah again. She almost broke a mitra's nose for bumping into him, claiming that the man was giving him the 'looks'. Rush swore she was overreacting, and was about to heal the man when Hannah dragged him further down the path, saying something about not wanting to make this 'Young' wait. He didn't have time to argue and could only mouth an apology to the stranger.

Going down the stone staircase, Rush saw a crowd by the fountain, circling and cheering two men—a yama and a mitra—locked in an arm wrestling match. Hannah hiked up her skirt as she trudged to the bottom, her mouth thinning into a line. He and Hinnah arrived by her side in time for the match to conclude, the yama unexpectedly losing to the mitra. Rush felt slightly embarrassed for the big guy as he tumbled over with a heavy thud and a loud yelp. The crowd then parted to give way to the winner, his smugness oozing from the wide, cocky grin he was sporting.

"I'll hang around the pub later," the mitra declared as he walked away, clearly giving the yama a chance for a rematch.

Hannah strode to the man, meeting him halfway, arms swinging stiffly at her sides, but the latter only went pass her and ambled straight to him and Hinnah. The man stopped right in front of him and levelled him with a scrutinizing gaze. Rush back stepped, suddenly feeling conscious. "W-what is it?"

The man's grin impossibly widened and then without warning Rush found himself trapped in a tight grip as he was lifted from the ground and was kissed soundly on the cheek. "Sweet pea! _A __Mháthair__!_ I missed you!"

"_Wha_—p-put me down!" Rush squawked, mortified.

"No way," the man laughed. "It's been so long."

The man waved him around like a ragdoll, rubbing their faces together. If a person could die from sheer embarrassment alone, Rush was sure he'd been dead a hundred times over.

"Get your hands off him before I break it."

The man stilled. "_Geez_. You're such a spoil sport, whitey."

"Hands. Off. _Now_," was Hinnah's grounded reply. The man's grip slackened and Rush didn't waste the opportunity to scamper behind his saviour.

The man uncharacteristically pouted. "Can't blame me for missing my sweet, _sweet_ little sweet pea."

"I'm not a sweet pea!" Rush protested, his tone two pitches higher. The pout was then directed at him, and he cringed at the sight. The expression looked ridiculous, not to mention scary, on Young… His eyes widened in recognition. "You're _Young__!_ That crazy guy from Baaluk!"

"I knew you'd remember! Now give me some more lovin'."

Rush immediately hid further behind Hinnah as Young tried to reach him, no doubt intending to manhandle him again. Hinnah tried to block off the unwanted advances, but there was only that much she could do against Young's heftier frame. Fortunately, Hannah managed to grab Young by the scruff of his shirt, preventing him from toppling them over.

"I'm sure he'd make a lovely rug out of you when word reaches his ears," Hannah smiled. Young stopped struggling and gave her a dirty glare, muttering something under his breath. Hannah ignored it, letting go of his clothes. "So, do you have it?"

"'Course, and old Milton made sure it won't cause any problems afterwards," Young said, obviously annoyed. "Said it'll last about a week and half or two."

"Isn't that a little too long?"

"Take it or leave it. But c'mon. Would Milton make something that'll give my sweet pea a tummy ache?" Young took out a small paper bag and wagged it above Hannah's head.

Hannah snatched the bag, not taking Young's bait. She opened it and pulled a round brown thing. "Rush, come here."

Warily, Rush treaded towards Hannah, his eyes never leaving Young. "What's that?"

"Eat it and find out," Hannah answered, dropping the brown thing on his palm.

Rush gave it a tentative sniff, smelling lemons and vanilla... Candy? But Hannah and Young was talking about effects and such... but Milton–whoever he was, but his name was reassuringly familiar–made sure it was safe. With a shrug, and not thinking about it further, he popped the treat into his mouth.

It tasted as it smelled like, lemony vanilla, but had a bitter aftertaste. ...Medicine? But he wasn't sick. "H–"

Huh? What in the name...?

Rush tried to speak again, but only a pitiful squeak came out. _What?_ _Why?_ What the hell was that thing? What happened to his voice?

"Don't you worry sweet pea, it's not permanent," Young said, patting him on the head. The gesture was strangely comforting, but he still gave Hannah an accusing glare. He thought she was on his side!

"Sorry Rush, I can do something about how you look, but not your voice," she apologized. "You still sound yourself, and I really don't think you can keep quiet the entire evening."

Rush pulled a face. It was so good to know his friends don't trust him.

"Hey, come now princess. It isn't so bad," Hinnah said, shoving herself between him and Young, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You're prettier when your mouth is shut."

Rush gave Hinnah a deadpanned look, but knew he couldn't do anything about the new situation he found himself in. He'll just have to put up being a mute for the time being.

_You guys suck_.

The trio laughed, and chorused: "We know."

* * *

**Act IV: Surprises**

"_It [life] is an endless procession of surprises. The expected rarely occurs, and never in the expected manner." – _Vernon A. Walters

**:::**

Kamila's estate was in the outskirts of the city. Young insisted on accompanying them till they reach the place, whining again and again that Hinnah and Hannah were being unfair keeping 'his' sweet pea all for themselves. Rush wasn't really sure how he felt about the unusual amount of attention coming from the man, nor how he kept referring to him as a flower.

Hiring a wagon to reach their destination quickly, Hannah dragged Young by the ear to one side while Hinnah made him sit beside her. The driver, a mousy blue qsiti, gave an amused chuckle, saying something along the lines of what a lively bunch they were.

Their short journey was accompanied by the trio's sarcastic jabs at each other, and some stories of their home. Rush let the conversation roll over him, letting his mind wander back home. He was expected to be home three days from now, if he left now and used the transporter in Gaslin Caves he'd be a day early, but he wouldn't be able leave till tomorrow night. Caedmon told him that he has something to tell him. He'll be late... Dave will worry.

Then again, didn't Dave mention he had some business in... _where was it again?_

"Hey, what are you thinking?" Hinnah asked, poking his cheek.

Rush shrugged, mouthing 'nothing'. No use thinking about it now.

Arriving at the estate was no short of a racket. Before they got out of the wagon Young tried to steal another smooch, but Hannah managed to kick him down. She sounded real scary when she berated the older man for improper conduct; Rush almost felt sorry for him. Hinnah reassured him though that Young was enjoying the whole thing. The man was a masochistic bastard, or so she said.

The twins gave their swords to Young, threatening bodily harm if Azureblade and Crimsomblade so much as breathe a word of complaint. Young dismissed the threats with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Hinnah and Hannah hopped off the wagon, and Rush was also about to follow too when Young caught him and gave him a big hug, kissing the top of his head.

"Stay safe sweet pea."

It was official—Young was one weird guy. Even so, Rush didn't try to squirm away and only let Young hug him till he was satisfied. Hannah wasn't jumping to his rescue so it was probably alright, and it kind of felt nice. Between him and Irina, he was always the one doing the worrying and caring. Having Young act somewhat like a big brother was a nice change.

Young let go and helped him get off the wagon. Rush gave him a hesitant wave of goodbye before joining the twin's sides.

"That sentimental idiot, I knew we shouldn't have told him," Hinnah mumbled.

"Let's go," Hannah said, taking hold of his hand and led their group to the estate's large iron gates.

Two yamas were posted behind the gate, and gave them narrow-eyed gazes as they approached. Hinnah ran ahead and talked to the guards. It looked as if there would be a problem at first, but it seems like Hinnah took care of it as the yamas opened the gate for them. One grunted that they hurry up when they passed through, and Rush wondered what was eating the guy.

"We're late, it's natural," Hannah whispered.

Well, he didn't have to be so cranky about it…

Hannah gave a soft giggle, as if hearing his thoughts, and urged him and Hinnah to walk faster along the roofed pathway. Rush left the navigation to her, as their hands were still linked, and let his eyes wander.

The place was amazing. He'd been in Balterossa Castle and thought it amazing too, but that was before he stepped foot in Kamila's yard.

Looming in front of them was a three-floor mansion that can easily fit Baaluk inside. The walls of the first and second floors were smooth, plain sandstone, while the third, most probably made from the same material, was covered with an intricate crisscrossing pattern. Rush was sure that every line and every curve was hand chiselled instead of painted. It must have taken years to finish…

Stretched in front of the mansion was a garden probably half the length of Xiphos Way. Rectangular pools of clear blue water ran vertically and horizontally across the garden, equally dividing it into four distinct sections. Right in the middle of the pools was a large rectangular framed fountain gushing vertical jets of water. Rush noticed that resting on the four corners of the fountain were sculptures of lions made from what might possibly be white gold from the way they shone in the light. They were almost life-like with how lazily they draped themselves on the edge, paws barely touching the water and tails seemingly swishing back and forth. Irregularly shaped plant boxes were constructed along the sides of the vertical pool, housing luscious green shrubs and different exotic flowering plants. Two uncovered pebbled pathway ran through the entire length of the garden, plant boxes on one side and medium-sized palm trees on the other. The whole place made him feel as though he had stepped into an oasis fit for the gods. Idly he wondered if there were three castles in Balterossa instead of two as this place could easily be mistaken for one.

"–la! _Layla!_"

Rush shook out of his stupor, finally realizing that Hannah was yanking his arm. "…?"

"It's alright, I was overwhelmed too when I first arrived," someone laughed.

He searched for the voice and found an elderly qsiti smiling up to their group.

Hannah bowed apologetically to the qsiti, "I'm sorry, ma'am, our cousin can be quite absent minded at times."

"Not to worry, and call me Grandma Tarub. We're all family here." The qsiti, Grandma Tarub, turned her attention to him, locking him in her stern brown eyes. "Now you, Layla was it? Don't let Mir-Sayb catch you without your wits about you, or she'll _eat_ you whole. She especially finds doe-eyed, innocent looking girls tasty."

His eyes widened at the warning. Nobody said anything about a cannibal for an employer! "…!"

"I jest child, but take the advice to heart. Mir-Sayb expects everybody in this household to be as sharp as her blades. Since you girls are northerners, she will be harder to please."

"So she's a ra–"

Hannah effectively cut off what Hinnah was about to blurt out by pinching the girl's side. Rush grimaced as Hinnah's face hardened, her hands diving to the spot where her twin twisted her skin.

"Thank you, we'll keep that in mind, but ma'am–"

"_Grandma Tarub_," the qsiti corrected, her tone slightly edged.

"Sorry. _Grandma Tarub_. If I may ask, does Lady Kamila not approve of foreigners?"

"Either refer to her as Mir-Sayb or Mistress. The Abd Al Rashid is not of noble blood, child." Grandma Tarub turned around then began walking away from them. "Follow."

Rush exchanged looks with the twins before they followed the elderly qsiti.

"For your question, Mir-Sayb tolerates northerners. I wouldn't hire you if she didn't."

"I thought Kamila was our employer?" Hinnah asked.

Grandma Tarub glanced at Hinnah over her shoulder, "You'd do well to observe titles."

"Sorry," Hinnah apologized, but did not sound it at all. "I thought _Mistress_ Kamila was our employer?"

"And do not think otherwise, but her time is much too important to be spent on such mundane task as dealing with common rabble."

Hinnah's eyes narrowed.

"Something I said, child?"

"No, not at all," Hinnah replied, her tone sickeningly sweet. "I was only thinking how it was a good thing that you're here, Grandma Tarub. Isn't that right, Hannah?"

"_Oh yes_. We are so very fortunate that you have time for us, Grandma Tarub," Hannah agreed, her smile not reaching her eyes.

The elderly qsiti stopped walking and turned around to face the twins. Rush swallowed thickly, at a lost on how such a short exchange managed to upset everybody. The twins and Grandma Tarub looked just about ready to slit each other's throats. The moment seemed to drag into eternity before the elderly qsiti suddenly grinned.

"Good, it seems I'll be adding some new names on the payroll after all."

Rush opened his mouth then closed it, unsure of what to think of the sudden tide of events, and it seems that he was not the only one judging by how Hinnah and Hannah were burrowing their brows.

"I-I beg your pardon?" Hannah asked, clearly flustered.

"Don't make me repeat myself, child," Grandma Tarub tooted. "I can still change my mind."

"But aren't we already hired?"

"Have you signed any contracts yet?"

"No, but–"

"Then you have _yet_ to be hired," Grandma Tarub interrupted. "A contract weighs more than any amount of coin in this house. It's proof that you have entered an agreement with Mir-Sayb, and her to you."

Hinnah crossed her arms. "So what did you do to the rest of our batch?"

"Oh you mean those brainless cattle that came before you? They're in the main hall, setting tables I imagine," Grandma Tarub gave a shrug. "I would have sent them away if it weren't for tonight. The banquets tend to be grander if they're for Master Usaim."

Rush tugged Hannah's hand, raising both his brows.

"Kamila's nephew," she whispered.

"Now let's get going, let's get going. We've dallied too long, and there is still much to do," Grandma Tarub ushered them, turning to Rush the elderly qsiti pursed here lips. "Remind me to give you some parchment and charcoal later. You do know how to write, yes, dear?"

Rush nodded immediately. Mom already drilled lessons on reading and writing in his skull even before he was five.

"Good. If all else goes smoothly, you may just survive the night."

**:::**

Grandma Tarub led them to what Rush guessed to be her study. The elderly qsiti went behind her desk and drew three contracts for them to go over. After reading everything, it took him about a minute or two to realize that once they signed this piece of paper there was no going back—they'd be stuck working as a maid for the next five years. Regardless of what reason, he had a feeling that Kamila wouldn't let them off the hook until they finished their term. He peeked at the girls from behind the parchment and saw them looking at him too, it seems like they all came to the same conclusion.

"I'm sorry but we didn't expect to be employed for so long. We'll have to think about this," Hannah apologized, handing back her contract. He and Hinnah followed suit.

"Very well, you have the whole night to make your decision."

The elderly qsiti seemed disappointed, but didn't say anything more as she locked the contracts away. She then steered them out and had them follow her to the main hall.

On their way there, Rush spied Caedmon talking to one of the servants; the two seemed pretty hush-hush with their conversation. If he remembered correctly, that woman should be a Silver Falcon too. He had been to their headquarters enough times to be familiar with a few faces. Grandma Tarub had clicked her tongue when she noticed the two as well, saying that the woman was from the earlier group and Caedmon was wasting his time investigating brainless, pink cheeked brats. The sovani's pointed ears canted as if hearing the comment.

Arriving at the hall they were greeted with a beehive of servants going to and fro, carrying dark wool rugs and pillows large enough to sit a yama. Some were busy putting up silk banners of red and gold on the walls, and setting gold plates and bejewelled goblets on the table. A few men were present in the room, helping the women bring down four chandeliers from the ceiling.

Grandma Tarub pushed them to the chandelier nearest to the head table and left them to their devices. A woman gave them a sack of candles each. He and the twins stared at each other before copying the other servants, placing a candle each on the many small iron holes around the chandelier.

Looking away from his work, Rush saw Grandma Tarub amble to a slender woman mitra up front. The woman had her arms crossed, tapping a thin pipe on her hip, as she looked over the folded cloths offered to her by a couple of servants. She picked two red cloths and held it out for Grandma Tarub, as if asking what she thought of it. The elderly qsiti picked the one still on a servant's arms instead, a greenish blue cloth with silver linings.

"You want to be hanged next to the banners, Mir-Sayb?" Grandma Tarub asked in obvious amusement.

"But I like red."

"Master Usaim is wearing blue tonight."

Rush watched the two women. So that was Kamila... The woman was both what he expected, and what he didn't. She was every bit the part of a rich lady, from her demeanour down to the many gold bangles hanging around her wrists. What he didn't expect was how much she resembled Dave—so much so to be easily mistaken as his mother.

The long, thick locks of sandy blond hair, and the healthy glowing, honey coloured skin were the most noticeable features. He could excuse them as something natural for desert folks, but the curve of her nose, her high cheekbones and her almond-shaped eyes were decidedly similar to Dave's—_too similar_. Then, when Grandma Tarub said something that made her frown, Rush saw the older boy's face for a split second.

Kamila turned her attention to him, and he suddenly felt unnervingly bare under the scrutiny of her amber coloured eyes. She smiled sweetly at him.

Face growing hot, Rush gave an uncertain smile in return then quickly ducked back to his work, praying he wouldn't be called on for staring. He let a few tense moments pass before daring a peek back to the woman. He breathed in relief when he found her already busying herself with those cloths again, but nervousness quickly settled back when he thought of how much she looked like Dave.

Couldn't be… could it?

He gave a shaky laugh and chased away the ridiculous thought. Kamila's nephew was that Usaim guy, and last time he checked, Dave didn't have an alter ego. There was no way his best friend was related to the woman. They only shared an uncanny resemblance, yeah...

"Usaim!"

"It is nice to see you again, Mema."

The sack of candles plummeted to the floor. _No way..._

"I missed you so much, my little cub! I thought you wouldn't be here till later tonight."

"Yes, her majesty was exceptionally brief... but enough of my dealings. How is my favourite aunt?"

Rush watched in fixated horror as Kamila gushed and fussed over the last person he expected–_wanted_ to see.

* * *

**Scattering Sand**

**End of Part I**

* * *

**A/N:** Recently edited, and Lots of hearts for the reviews~

Placed tributes for three of my guilty pleasures: Les Mis, 'The New Girl' and Skyrim. If you can spot them all, you deserve a year's supply of oreo from, well… sponsored by you :3

- mimic shalle


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **A guest reviewer commented on the 'Indian' influence, and if it was pertaining to my use of Mehndi then—yes, the body art originated in India, but that's as Indian as my version of Balterossa would get. The Middle East and India are practically next door neighbors so it's not at all surprising that they share some similarities in clothing, food, culture, and etc. (Just to clear things up, _Mehndi_ is also used by Muslims and by some Arab Women—particularly by the CCASG… it's in wiki o-o;).

Though I do have a wide berth for whatever detail I choose, fashioning them to suit my needs, rest assured that I've researched them and much thought was done before they're incorporated in the story.

Edited something in Part I, but it's only minor and wouldn't really have an overall impact (but then again I should rewrite the whole thing, rereading it now that I'm done with Part II, Part I is decidedly weak, but meh if I did, I won't have anything done). It only concerns the timeframe for travelling from Balterossa to Athlum.

Lots of heart for the feedback~

**Summary: **It takes one ridiculous job for Rush to get another taste of his old life, and an errand from Ghor for David to be unwittingly confronted with possibilities he did not wish to prepare for. _DaSh_ even if you don't squint. Rated T for a reason.

* * *

**Scattering Sand**

**Part II: David**

* * *

**Act I: Coincidence**

"_Every single moment is a coincidence."_ –Doug Coupland

**:::**

David's mouth curled in amusement over his temporary campmates' antics. Ngoen had once again challenged Young in a battle of brawns and lost, quite spectacularly at that. Young had offered that they should have a go as well, but he was not foolish enough to accept. Despite having only a slight brawny built, Young had proven to be as immovable as a mammoth and with the same strength to match it. Blocter would have a hard time beating the man. It was little wonder why he didn't have trouble giving the mitran foreigner a tumble on the hard dirt.

"I lost."

"For the fifth time," David said to the foreigner. "You should know by now that it is futile."

"_Foo_-tile?"

"Can't win," Ruang Sak answered for David from across the fire, laughing, and David wondered how the man could still be sober from the amount of sprits he had consumed. "Boy needs know his place, landstrider. Let idiot son eat dirt."

"Aye, but no more dirt eating tonight. Gotta have my beauty sleep," Young said, stretching his arms above his head. He sat between Ruang Sak and Torgal, but not entirely beside anyone. "Need to look my best for my sweet pea, ya know."

Confusion marred Ngoen's sharp features as he smoothed and retied his short wolftail. "Sweet pea is flower, yes?"

"Sweetest you'll ever find!"

It wasn't much of an answer, but David did not offer any clarification for Ngoen's sake and the foreigner's father seem to take it for what it was as well. It was quite apparent that Young was most excited with the prospect of reuniting with his beau. He had been chattering about this so called 'sweet pea' since they have set up camp.

It had been coincidence that David's entourage crossed paths with Ruang Sak's group and Young. That, or an unhealthy dose of bad luck. The Southwestern Road was never known for troublesome beasts, more of insignificant nuisances to give a slight twist to otherwise bland travels. When a dragon was involved, though… well now, best not to test fate.

Ruang Sak, Ngoen, and three more others, whose names had escaped David, were already engaged in a battle with the feral, moss green dragon. Four, including the silver haired father and son, were fending most of its clawed swipes with unusual wide, curved swords; one was catapulting small spears with a stringed weapon of some sort at the monster, aiming for its soft-scaled belly. They were keeping up valiantly, though it would only be a matter of time before the beast gets the better of them. The thick stunk of sulfur in the air and the telltale signs of its trembling neck and puffing jowls were most alarming.

David kicked the sides of his horse into a gallop, thanking hindsight for not riding in his stifling carriage for the last dregs of their travels, Torgal and the soldiers closely behind his trail. He hastily took out his rapier and threw a permafrost spell at the dragon. There was no time to properly channel the spell, but premature as it was, it had prevented the dragon from taking flight and do irreparable damage.

He dismounted his horse in a jump and landed beside Ngoen, dust stirring up in short, thick tendrils from his horse's panicked footfalls. The foreigner's hawk-like cerulean eyes had widened in surprise, but he did not have enough time to give a proper explanation. "Cover me," he ordered instead, readying himself to cast a proper permafrost.

Looking back at it now, it was quite lucky that Ngoen and his father could converse well in their tongue, their enunciations mangled as it was, but none the less conversational. Torgal and his soldiers had already positioned themselves between him and the dragon while Ruang Sak barked an order that had his group surround the monster as well.

David felt the atmosphere shift, frost glazing over the ground he stood on as he concentrated on the spell. The familiar tight pull of energy from his gut gave way to the coldness that slowly coiled from the bottom of his feet and up to his arms.

The tail of the dragon lashed out at the men in front of it, foreigners and Athlumians alike. Torgal was casted off to his far left and David was wide open to the dragon's claws. The dragon towered over him in its hind legs and lifted its giant claws; the sharp bone briefly glinted like a newly sharpened scythe when it caught the sun. The dragon swiped it down in breakneck speed.

No time. He wouldn't be able to dodge the lethal attack. How long before the news of the Marquis of Athlum reduced to bloody ribbons circulate? The amount of paperwork his death would cause was sure to make Emmy curse him for all her worth and bring him back from the dead to spite him. He has yet to clear the disagreement between him and Torgal about that match with a noble, too. Daughter of an esteemed councilman or not, he did not want it. From Undelwalt be damned.

…He hasn't even had the chance to come clean with Rush yet.

"Stop lollygaggin' you twat! _Finish the fucking spell!_"

From seemingly out of nowhere, Young had dropped in front of David, back turned as he blocked the dragon with the flat of an enormous yaman sword. The man's arms were taut from effort, tight corded muscles bulging, but he held a strong ground. Although surprised, David didn't need telling twice.

David renewed his concentration, spurning the spell back to life. Torgal raced to Young's front, throwing only a rapid glance at David to make sure no serious harm had befallen him. With a gargantuan growl, his general had driven his heavy set of axe down the dragon's limb, but not quite severing it. Ngoen immediately remedied it by hurling himself like a silver spear back into the fray and flipped onto the protruded weapons, stomping it to the ground. The dragon screeched and drew back from its severed limb, angry and agitated.

Coldness traveled to David's arms as the dragon readied itself for another attempt for its vulcanbreath—but it was already too late. The coldness reached David's fingertips and he unleashed the spell. Mist blossomed from the ground and a giant spear of ice suddenly impaled the dragon at its belly. Trapped, the dragon gave another screech, longer this time, but its last, flailing miserably before collapsing, still and mercifully dead.

Their almost fatal encounter with a dread dragon had finally ended there. Regrouping and treating the wounded, minor grazes was all, and setting up camp was done in short order. Sharing camp with Ruang Sak's group and Young had been a silent consensus between him and Torgal, despite protocols of security. The carriages were pulled beside a nearby stream where the horses were tended to and fed.

The rough, brash-looking mitra and the group of kooky foreigners had given more flavor to their supper of day old bread and cheese and honey cured ham. Instead of the ham though, his soldiers preferred to hack out a large chunk of dragon meat. They roasted it over the crackling fire, the meat sizzling softly as it was cooked by its own oil. A little too excited perhaps, but David could not fault them for all the trouble the creature caused. Besides, the savory spicy, salty smell that wafted through their camp had made even Torgal's stomach rumble with appreciation. Something that David would tease the man about for days to come.

They had the chance to properly introduce themselves while they drank and ate around the hearth of the fire. Ruang Sak apparently runs a circus, though he immediately added that he was not the ringmaster, but his wife. They were coming back from Elysion after observing their next prospect market. The circus as of present was setup right outside Balterossa's walls.

They hailed from some far off continent, Ayuthaya, the man said, and call themselves Dvaravati. Somehow, then, their birdlike features seemed to make more sense to David. Although, he still thought that the thicket of feather ornaments seemingly buried in their hair was over the top. Ruang Sak said that they came to their land for new sights. David had his reservations but was mostly amazed when he learned that it had taken their troupe almost half a year of sea travel to reach their continent.

It was quite a bold move, if not foolish, for the foreigner's troupe. Experienced seafarers of their continent haven't gotten beyond Lynmir, a small land mass about three weeks of voyage from Celapaleis, and four from Balterossa's port march, Cadan. It was already a miracle they have come to know the place. The sea was vast, and their map only had but a speck of chartered waters, more than three quarters remained black as soot.

It would be a slow journey to death for anyone who wished to discover to new land, having no known stops for replenishing supply. Those who tried their luck were never heard from again. The existence of great continents such as theirs were left behind in the folds of fiction, but the arrival of these foreigners would be sure to lift those fantasies off the pages. David could already hear clamor for voyages to this Ayuthaya once word spread throughout the empire.

Young on the other hand had more to say about his beau than his profession. A traveling mercenary was all he said about himself before he started regaling them of this 'sweet pea' of his. David was almost curious to see what kind of woman had enamored such a man. Young didn't seem the type to sing praises so openly for anyone, lover or otherwise.

As for his own introduction, David had said that he was of merchant class, and Torgal and the soldiers were under his family's employment. There was no need to breach any more protocols, and his temporary companions need not be privy of his station. None of them were wearing their usual garbs, and he didn't have enough finery on him that would identify him Marquis, or, at the very least, noble born. Most of his peers had a bad habit of flaunting their identity. Admittedly vain, he was not stupid as to invite bandits. It was still apparent, though, that he was in command of some amount of coin. The size of his party, and his fine weaved tunic and coat hinted as much.

"I not understand. You call wives flower names here?" Ngoen asked, head tilted to the side.

Young quirked an eyebrow at the younger mitra. "If you're into that, why the hell not," he said. "And he ain't a woman nor my mate nor my type, brat. Even if he were, 'not like I can hold a candle against _Fifi_."

Ruang Sak had turned to David, disapproval apparent from the lines of his face. "Man wed man here?"

"From where I'm from, sure you can get hitched," Young answered. "Different story with blondie's kind."

"It will be unorthodox, but there is no law against it," Torgal said from beside David, speaking for the first time that evening.

"_Tch_. No law, but you'd get a rock on your face."

"We do not have law for it too," Ruang Sak said. "But I know such thing is wrong. Anshar not allow it."

Young threw his hands in the air. "Marshall's tits! _Humans_. It's a miracle you're still here, ninnies that you are."

"You're human too, Young," David reminded.

"I'm far higher in the pecking order, thanks."

David took offense, more on the very sure and haughty quality of the older man's tone rather than the actual words.

"_Maa_, perhaps," Ruang Sak chuckled. "What of you landstrider, you spoken for? Wife?"

David ignored Torgal, knowing the man would be giving him _the_ look. His general was still hoping for him to reconsider that match. "No. And I am quite sure it will be a long time before I have a wife to boast."

"Man your age should have wife."

"I'm no older than your son, sir."

"Yes, but Ngoen is spoken for." Ruang Sak stroked his grizzled chin. "You have lover then."

"None." Not since he met Rush.

"_Hmm_… a fling."

David drank from his flask, hiding his frown with nonchalance. "Forgive me, sir, but I don't see how my personal affairs are of concern to _any_ of you."

"None of our damn business is what you mean," Young snorted.

"If that is how you wish to interpret my words, then it is so."

"But you are wooing fair maiden, yes?" Ruang Sak pressed.

David shrugged, putting a stop to the queries. Was he courting someone? To a certain extent. Was it a fair maiden? No. Certainly not a maiden, but Rush was more than fair for him. He knew for a long time already that he harbors feelings more than friendship for the boy, but damned it if he acted on it. Anything more than friendship would cause an upset.

But be it as that, for now… For now, damn Torgal and the sudden influx of wedding proposals on his desk. He didn't have the mind, nor did he want to fancy any other than Rush.

"It is rather late, we should retire for the night," Torgal said standing up. "I'll take first watch."

Ruang Sak followed Torgal's example, dusting his rear as he did so. "I and Khemkhaeng take it with you, if you not mind. Son and others can take next."

"Much obliged. You should take your rest, Master Usaim."

David's ears ringed at the name, not quite used to Torgal addressing him with his Balterossan moniker. "I shall take the last watch then."

"Nah, blondie. I get last shift," Young said.

"I'm not one to prefer special treatment."

"Saved our asses earlier," the man waved off by way of explanation. "Just give me enough players for cards."

"We have enough men to cover all shifts. Retire for the night, master," Torgal ushered.

David already knew that he would have a complete night's rest, but he had to at least try. He was groomed to be a leader, but he was as much as a soldier as the next infantryman. Too much pampering can never be good.

He bid the men a good night before retreating to his temporary quarters, and gave a curt nod to a soldier stationed in his tent as he lifted the canvas flap. He had told Torgal that there was no need for the tent, but the sovani did not hear any of it and had the men prepare it for him. Before David could even counter the order, however, the frivolous thing was already waiting to be used.

He deposited his boots under his cot then lied down, his thoughts in avertedly wandering back to Rush as they always would these days. It was odd how they haven't encountered the boy yet. Rush should have been making his way back home, and there was only one road to take. The route from Gaslin Caves hasn't been secured yet. Although… he wouldn't put it pass the boy to make a detour.

Rush has a certain wanderlust that David once found endearing. The boy had a child-like glow whenever there was even a hint of adventure that he could partake. But, now, instead of endearment, worry only festered in the pit of his stomach.

David sighed and rolled to his side. _It can't be helped_. He tucked his arm behind his head and closed his eyes, coaxing sleep to come. As long as Rush didn't wander too far. As long as Rush always return home to him. It was fine.

_I can live with that._

**:::**

Early morning found David and his companions at the already busy gates of Balterossa. A steady, bustling traffic of farmers, travelers and merchants was already milling into the kingdom, no doubt heading straight to Spirale Market. They would have arrived the evening before hadn't it been for the dragon, but he was in no hurry. He was far from being late with his appointments.

Young had already left, bidding them farewell with a sloppy, two-finger salute, leaving David with the foreigners.

Ruang Sak offered his hand up to David. "Many thanks, landstrider."

"It was no trouble, sir," he replied, reaching for the man's hand from his horse and gave it a firm shake.

"We stay here for days still," the man pointed at the eastern side of the kingdom. An orange triangular flag was peeking above the walls. "See us when you have time. I give something to you and your fair maiden."

"I'll be sure to stop by, then."

Ruang Sak gave David a slight upturn of his mouth before walking towards the gates, showing one of the guards his pass. Ngoen and their other companions gave him a half bow one by one, left fist over their chests, before following the older man.

David watched the foreigners a while before steering his horse pass the gates. One of the guards, a horned, brown-scaled yama, only gave him a lazy half over and did not bother him for a pass. The guard's companion, a pudgy male mitra, almost asked David to stop, but the yama only thumped the man on the head and muttered 'idiot' and 'dandelion head'.

David paid little attention to the guards, pausing only for Torgal to catch up before continuing down the unpaved street. The mitra was obviously not a local. His Balterossan family's features were distinct in the kingdom, and having inherited most of his mother's looks, no one would doubt his familial relations. They may not be of noble born, but the Abd Al Rashid was most influential in Balterossa, tied only by the old kingdom's monarchs.

They haven't quite reached the closest pub, Café Moondust, when a small platoon of castle guards blocked their way. A mitran woman pushed pass the men with her horse, her loose, gilded robes and golden finery indicating that she was, to some degree, highborn.

"Lord Nassau, welcome," she greeted, bowing her head. "We've been expecting you."

* * *

**Act II: Politics**

"_Politics has never been for the thin-skinned or the faint of heart, and if you enter the arena, you should expect to get roughed up." – _Barack Obama

**:::**

David had half the mind to tell Lady Fatin that he would come back the next day. For all her name stood for, the only thing he could remotely consider alluring about his temporary host was her full bosom. The cream robes she donned hinted modesty, but said modesty seemed to be suffering some scarcity covering her deep, honey brown valley. The young woman wasn't at all unattractive—a local desert beauty—but anything pretty he had the slightest chance of commenting was blasted to oblivion with her incessant yammering. Couldn't Bertrude have spared him a _mute_ envoy?

"Wouldn't it be just wonderful to see even a little splash of green? I heard _Athlum_ have such beautiful stretches of meadows."

The irritating woman edged closer to him, and David not so discreetly moved as far away as the plush settee would allow. An insult was already at the tip of his tongue, but he kept mum and squared his jaw. _Be patient_. He'd be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Before leaving for Balterossa, it was already decided that he would come see his aunt first, Bertrude next. He hasn't seen Mema since he inherited his title, and the reason that he was allowed to travel down south was because of matters involving her anyway. Ghor had ordered him to have his aunt sever her ties with the Silver Falcons. He almost scoffed at the old fool hadn't he kept himself in check. He had better chances of convincing a jhana to do the congress' bidding.

More than the impossible task, though, David saw it as an opportunity to foster an alliance with Balterossa without raising too many suspicions. Bertrude's support was imperative if he ever hoped to win Athlum's independence. He didn't want another repeat of the last hearing.

He was sure that Bertrude had already anticipated his intentions, and that will work well for his cause. They wouldn't dance around the subject too much. The only thing left to do was let the conversation flow its natural course. First were the compulsory pleasantries, then matters of the state—discovering the route in Gaslin Caves had come in the most opportune time—and, finally, to the heart of the matter.

Only, he was to approach Bertrude. Not the other way around.

David already had a few guesses—

"My suitors already offered to accompany me, but I am quite certain that they wouldn't be as familiar with the terrain unlike a true son of Athlum."

—but this, _this_—Lady Fatin flapped her mouth again for another pathetic attempt on being coy—this _annoyance _was preventing him from ruminating any possibilities in peace.

David tried to tune out the noise, reducing himself to tracing the zigzagging pattern of the cashmere rug that covered the entire floor of the drawing room. He had a brief room to commend Balterossan's unique weave, its blend of dark and bright colors and how they use goat wool rather than sheep's, before his thoughts was disrupted again by the chatterbox beside him.

"I did not expect you to be so _shy_, Lord Nassau."

David almost blanched at the woman's audacity, but managed to keep a straight face. "Silence is a gift, my lady."

"Oh no need to cover it up, my lord. But, dare I say this, I find reserved men most, _most_ attractive."

David heard Torgal gave a small cough from across him. He shot the man a vicious glare. _Bastard_. His general was certainly taking glee over his expense.

"Are you all right Master Torgal?"

Torgal gave a slight smile, reaching for his _chai_ on the glass table. "Quite fine, my lady. Only caught something in my throat."

And David wished Torgal choked on it. The annoying woman would see how reserved he was when he laughed at his general's harried gagging.

"Oh, that is good. I worried for a moment," the woman giggled daintily. David wanted nothing more than to shove the plate of puff pastry down her throat. "What about you, Lord Nassau? Forgive me as I have forgotten myself, I haven't even inquired of how your travel fared."

"It was well and good."

Much to David's growing ire, the woman still remained ignorant to his mood. _Divines_, weren't courtiers supposed to be good hosts? He'd rather burn a hole on his seat, settling petty and downright ridiculous farmers' disputes than to endure another minute of this torture.

"I haven't seen much of our empire. Not even Elysion! Could you believe—"

"I believe I have made our guests wait long enough."

"Majesty!"

David ignored the gushing woman and almost glided over to Bertrude. The queen was dressed in Balterossan traditional attire. An embroidered blouse and bottle-styled silk pants replaced her Elysionian influenced gowns. A gilded, flowing purple robe was worn over her clothes. It reminded him much of his mother's stories of the Sultana of the Great Sand Sea. Bertrude held out a dark, manicured hand. David bowed and gave it a quick, customary chaste kiss.

"Majesty," he greeted, standing to his full height.

"Lord Nassau," Bertrude replied equally. She regarded him with measuring coal black eyes. "You seem to have grown."

"I'll take that as a compliment, majesty."

"It was meant as such. Have you broken your fast?" Bertrude hooked her hand to his arm, leading him out of the drawing room. "Come, you must join me. I find the food more palatable with company."

"It will be my pleasure."

Bertrude laughed, turning her head slightly back to the room. "_You too, general_. We have much to discuss with so little time. Oh, and Fatin."

"Yes, majesty?"

"Be a dear and wash those in the kitchen," Bertrude said, motioning for the china. "They are to be spotless."

"_O_-of course, majesty. Right away."

David knew that Lady Fatin would be teeming with humiliation, but he could hardly spare any sympathy. He was much too worried about what Bertrude's words entailed.

**:::**

Bertrude slathered a thick glob of red jam on her _naan-e gandhi._ David covered a grimace by taking a spoonful of his _haleem_. The taftoon bread was already sweet, having it with jam would make the taste redundant… But each to their own as his mother always used to reprimand him.

"Our harvest this year is quite bountiful. I haven't seen such succulent peaches for a while."

"I only hope that we would be as fortunate," David agreed, not giving it real thought.

"Oh, you patronize me, my lord. Athlum's soil is one of the most fertile in the empire. It is a given you'll have good harvest."

David did not remind her that Athlum has no soil to call her own while she remains as one of Celapaleis' vassals. "Yes, but certain produce only grows in Balterossa."

"It is only fair. The desert can be so unforgiving."

He only nodded and finished his bread while Bertrude engaged Torgal in another subject on agriculture. For someone clamoring for limited time she seemed to be more interested in exchanging nonsensical pleasantries.

They have not talked of anything else aside from travels and matters that loosely concerned both their territories. Though he would normally enjoy such talks, and Bertrude had opted for a veranda that overlooked her kingdom than a stuffy dining hall, he was growing increasingly uneasy in the queen's company. Bertrude did not call them merely to chat about economical standings.

"I wonder, general, are you at all familiar with Balterossa's history?"

David's attention lifted away from his steaming _chai_. He knew of two histories regarding the old kingdom: the one that his mother passed down to him, and the bastardized version written and thought by the empire.

"I know enough," Torgal answered.

"Enough…" Bertrude echoed. "Enough to know that the Imperator was a conniving snake? A vilifier and a pillager?"

Before any words had been spoken, Bertrude motioned for her servants and guards away by a sweep of her hand. David exchanged rapid glances with Torgal before the sovani made a move to exit the premises as well.

"Stay, general." Bertrude dabbed a napkin over her mouth, effortlessly appearing casual. "I'm sure whatever is spoken here will be relayed to you. He is your chief advisor and most trusted confidant, is he not, Lord Nassau?"

David did not bother hiding his frown. "What do you want majesty."

"You are a curious one. You refer to me as 'majesty', and yet I am certain you do not see me any higher than your Duke Qubine."

"Addressing you any lower would be a great insult to _my_ heritage, however half it may be," he replied, words clipped, having just about enough of all this dallying. "Now, _majesty_, I'll ask again. What do you want."

"Right up to business, are we? I've expected as much…" Bertrude leveled him with a solid gaze. "An alliance against the empire."

David openly stared at the woman. All thoughts halting and then realization, "…You want war."

"It would be more accurate to say that _we_ are not at all impressed with the current emperor. A coup. Though if battle could be avoided, better. I'd take diplomacy over battle grazed land anytime, even tedious as it is."

David breathed deeply, head already reeling over their short exchange. He was no fan of the current reigning emperor, and would like a change himself, but there were other more _advantageous_ allies in the Northwest. As far as he knew Belmere was not in Qubine's list, and was even, perhaps, in the brat's good graces. The march's lord was as unassuming as a lord can be… or want to appear.

"Why Athlum?" he asked, and could not quite refrain bewilderment coloring it.

"Certainly you are not selling yourself short, are you my lord? You are not suited to be a mere piece on the board." Bertrude turned to Torgal, "General, tell me, which houses have sent proposals vying for a union."

"Boletto," Torgal started slowly while keeping eye contact with him, shoulders rigid. "Valois and Ciardil..."

"And I am sure Grey, Morin, Vafa, Perlin and Enis—and, perhaps, even one from your fellow marquis, Lord Argauto, would soon follow."

Argauto was Qubine's dog, and they, along with the rest of the noble houses, were the empire's most avid supporters… Torgal's mouth pinched into a straight line indicating that he had also reached the same conclusion.

"You see, my dear general, your lord is not only a fine looking young man—as expected from having roots here, however half it may be," Bertrude gave David a meaningful look. "He is also the closest friend of the next duke of Nagapur _and_, by right, Chairman of the Congress."

…_What?_

"Gentlemen," Bertrude laughed humorlessly. "You shouldn't be so surprise. You've been sheltering the boy for almost a year."

"_I-_I'm sorry, majesty, but—"

"_Rush Sykes_, Lord Nassau," Bertrude interrupted. "Or should I say… Lyle Durandal _Hermeien _Sykes."

**:::**

David replayed the conversation as he looked out from the small window of his carriage, the new trade and tariff zone agreement untouched on the empty seat beside him.

Balterossa and Melphina and Royotia… the whole South wishes for a coup d'état. Royotia had been a surprise, certainly. The friction between it and its soon to be former vassal, Balterossa, was expected to end in the ruin of one of the states. There had been talks that the Emperor was unwilling to lend a hand for reconciliation.

No... Why would the bastard even let his army march? A marching army was expensive, and, what's more, having them fight will give the emperor ground to have Bertrude replaced by one of his cronies. Perhaps Grey or Ciardil, whoever licked his boots more.

Now Nagapur. Bertrude already secured an alliance with some of its marches, but the majority of the marquises and nobles were obscure. Nagapurians, if anything, were loyal to a fault to their sovereign lord. David knew there was still foul blood between him and the Nagapurian lords for having a hand in their late duke's death. However, Bertrude had assured him that they were now placated, if not willing to be civil, with Athlum. Having known that it was for the benefit of the now more preferred heir overturned whatever offense he did.

_But…_

Duke Oswald Hermeien only had one child. That was a fact, which makes Marina Sykes, at the very most, adopted. Whatever sliver of Nagapurian blood she had, if any at all, was negligible. But the old duke had returned from the grave—"A hush-hush affair, that one," Bertrude had said—and no one dared dispute him when he named his heir. Marshall's holy blood was as good as any noble blood. Bertrude warned David that Duke Hermeien will soon announce his return, and from then on his apparent heir would live and learn under his tutelage to fit the position of duke.

David let his head drop onto his hand. He should be happy, giddy with elation. It gave him that much coveted leverage. _But I'm not, _and in this very moment he did not care of Athlum or her people—_his_ home, _his_ people. He wanted very much to tie a noose around his neck himself. What kind of lord was he thinking of such thoughts? _Why Rush?_

"I know of an inconspicuous place for a drink."

David peered at Torgal between his fingers. The sovani knew better than to offer a glass of spirits in the middle of the day, and leave them addle witted to greet his aunt. "Yes, please. I could use one."

"We both do," Torgal said, sighing audibly. The sovani tapped the driver's window twice before the soldier slid it open. "Pull over."

"Sir?"

"We're getting off here."

"Yes sir."

The soldier pulled over to the side of the unpaved road. The buzz of barter welcomed David once he and Torgal shuffled out of the carriage, the entrance to Spirale Market only ways ahead.

"Go ahead to the southern gate. We'll catch up in an hour." The carriage trudged towards the gate and Torgal turned to David. "You forgot this," he said, handing him the documents for the agreement. "Stay close, it's only near."

David tucked the documents under his thin coat and let Torgal lead the way. Hopefully this place his general was talking about served _arak_. 'Lion's milk' could pack a punch that can make him believe that he was still blissfully unaware of what was to come.

* * *

**Act III: Family**

"_Right here, right now, you are not David Nassau. You are only Usaim. My tight assed baby cousin. Now clean up and enjoy your party." –_Salah Nazim Abd Al Rashid

**:::**

"Open the gates!"

Heavy clunks and clinks issued behind the massive thirty foot gates before it opened from the center, requiring a pair of yamas for each heavy wooden frame to be pulled backwards. Just as quickly, the men pushed the gates to a close once the carriage passed the entryway.

They made a beeline towards the stables, pulling over to one of the few empty sheds. The other carriages that Torgal deemed necessary in their travel were already occupying two more sheds, luggage already unloaded and horses already tended to in the stables. Once the carriage stopped, David did not waste a moment to get out of the stuffy vehicle, Torgal behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to be finally behind familial territory.

A large group of leather armored guards were making their way towards him. No doubt the household was caught unprepared for his untimely arrival. Mema and Grandma Tarub would certainly be leading the pack had they known.

Shouts of 'Master Usaim!' and 'Welcome home!' volleyed across the group as soon as they reached him. David felt guilty for not being able to muster the same amount enthusiasm. After the events that transpired beforehand, he only wanted to retire early in his room and sleep on it.

"I apologize for arriving so ahead of time."

A qsiti came forward, grinning. "No such thing Master Usaim! We're happy you're finally home!"

"As am I," he said. "By any chance do you know where I can surprise Mema?"

"Mir-Sayb's at the main hall," a mitra laughed. "Checking if everything's spot on. Ga—"

"_USAIM!"_

David flinched. The shout had erupted from the middle of the crowd. He knew very well who that obnoxious voice belonged to. Soon enough, the guards parted and gave way to a male mitra drabbed in shabbily in a faded coat, tunic open and hanging loose over his trousers. The man held out his arms, the ever present smug upturn of his mouth plastered across his face.

"Cousin," the man said and proceeded to smother David with an unwanted hug, smacking him across the back none too gently. "You've been sorely missed."

"_Nazim,_" David gritted and forcefully extracted himself from his older cousin.

"Look at you, look at you. Last time I saw you, you were a wee small runt! Now you're almost up to Torgal's chin—oh and hullo Torgal—_never_ tall as me though."

"Greetings to you as well, Master Nazim."

"You have brown hair," David eyed the now dark wavy locks, opting not to comment about the irksome height difference.

"It's _dark chocolatey brown_ according to the lovely sylphs of Marva Isles."

"I'm surprised Mema allowed it."

"_Ha!_ Whoever said the hag had any say on it? I'm my own man!"

"It escapes the mind why she chose you as her successor…" David muttered.

Nazim draped his arm over David's shoulders and steered him towards the main house. "That, my dearest cousin, is one of the greatest mysteries of the world. Here I am doing my _hardest_ not to be and yet she insists!"

"By that you mean bedding anything with two legs." David shrugged off Nazim's arm irritably and walked on his own. He knew his way around and did not need his unsavory cousin's help.

"The raging serpent knows no rest," Nazim winked. "And it's called _fucking, _cousin. _Fuck-ing. _We men of the sea regularly require the revitalizing powers of the fairer sex."

"Yes, Divines forbid you be depraved. It will be such an affront."

"Speak for yourself. Word in the street you have three high class dames vying for your attention, _hmmm_?"

David fell back a step. It was meant to annoy him further, but the jab only doused him with coldness, sobering him from the sudden bout of familiar irritation for Nazim. Bertrude's words ringing clearly in his ears.

"—new servant. Flat on the upper decks, and her rear is only but average. _But Divines!_ Divines I swear. She be like the highest just ripe peach on the tree! Unblemished, sweet, and waiting to be… Something the matter, cousin?"

"No, nothing. Only had a thought." David stalked passed Nazim towards the main hall. "You were saying something about ships? When will you be sailing next?"

"…Voyage. That'd be voyages. We go to sea in two months, or come next year."

"Hm."

"The hag gave me leave to go east. Typical for her to be curious with those bird folk… 'Setup tents nearby, those foreigners."

"I see. Have a safe journey then."

"Usaim."

David paused, his hand hovering above an ornate set of doors. He spared a glance back at his cousin before pushing the heavy junipers open. "I'm sure you can handle one or two pirates, Nazim."

The main hall was decked with the colors of the family, red and gold. Servants were busy setting up tables, placing candles on the chandeliers and decorating the pillars. David immediately found his aunt amidst the bustling hall. She was occupied with her handmaids, but she immediately twirled around upon the creak of the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"_Usaim!_"

His aunt practically flew over to him as fast as her silk, embroidered slippers would allow her to. She enveloped him into her lithe arms and David returned the gesture, squeezing her gently.

"It's nice to see you again, Mema."

Mema kissed both of his cheeks. "I missed you so much my little cub! I thought you wouldn't arrive till later tonight."

David drew back from his aunt, smiling tightly. "Yes, her majesty was exceptionally brief…" he trailed. "But enough of my dealings. How is my favorite aunt?"

She sighed theatrically, "Here, being bullied by this ancient prune. Are you truly wearing blue tonight?"

"I was merely suggesting that she wear different colors. It is good to see you again Master Usaim," a qsiti ambled forward, smiling up to him, and then over to his back. "Master Torgal."

"Grandma Tarub, it has been a while," David said to the elderly, orange qsiti. "And I'm afraid I don't have anything blue with me, have I, Torgal?"

"Not that I know of, my lord," Torgal replied. "Tarub, Mir-Sayb Kamila, I hope you are well."

"I'll be when I'm wearing my preferred colors," Mema huffed.

Grandma Tarub gave a half shrug. "By all means, Mir-Sayb, if you wish to be mistaken for the banners."

"See how she bullies me?"

"I'm sure blue would suit you just as fine, Mema."

"You…" Mema started and then clicked her tongue. "Nazim. …Nazim. _Nazim!_ Get your useless self over here and give Usaim a spar."

Nazim looked up from the lower floor, stopping midway from handing a few candlesticks to a peachy white mitran servant girl. "Can't you see I'm busy you hag?"

"Are you hard of hearing? I said give your cousin a spar—and I forbid you to have a tumble with that one, is that clear?"

"Mema there is no need…"

"Hush now you. Don't think I didn't know you had a drink before coming here. Really, Usaim, arak? I can smell it a mile away, it's a wonder you're staying upright. And Torgal, I know whatever Asima had to say must upset you both, but I expected you to be more astute."

"She's engaged, not married!" Nazim cried out.

"It's the same thing, fool! Now get going before I divorce you from your _raging serpent_."

David could only watch helplessly as Nazim gave a bow to the servant girl and kissed her hand, mimicking the common courtesies of a knight to a lady, perhaps hoping to appeal to the girl's obvious northern roots. Nazim plodded towards him, his features resigned but admonishment was clear in the way he crooked his mouth.

"You had this coming, cousin."

**:::**

David winced as he was thrown flat on his back again. He and Nazim had been sparring in the courtyard for what seemed to be hours, or to be more apt he was getting his behind handed to him without much effort from the other. He'd be sore come morning. His side was already numb from all the kicks and jabs. Torgal was only close by, but was under strict orders not to interfere. Not that his general would step in, either way.

"Come on, cousin. Old man Jabbar is crying in his grave. This is beyond poor."

At the mention of their old _krav_ master, David, with effort, stood up and faced his cousin again. "I'm only out of practice."

"There's a wide berth between out of practice and not paying attention."

"I haven't done hand-to-hand for a long time, Nazim."

"I don't remember whining was included in my lessons, was _yours_?"

He clicked his tongue, Nazim hit home more than he was willing to admit. He flexed his arms, as they began circling each other again. He breathed in through his nose and out to his mouth. One thing about _krav maga_ was that you _always _have to move.

David thrust himself forward, aiming the heel of his palm to Nazim's throat. His wrist was blocked before the hit made contact. He immediately followed it with his other hand, this time aiming at the head, only to be blocked again. They volleyed strikes and blocks until Nazim's leg suddenly shot up from below. It was too late to evade. Wind rushed out of him in a gasp, Nazim's knee connecting solidly to his gut.

"Better. Again," Nazim ordered from where he was crumpled on the ground.

David wheezed, clutching his stomach, and picked himself up. "I don't remember sparring to be this painful."

"You used to take more. Now, come. Again."

"Any more and I won't be attending tonight."

Nazim seemed to have another witty comment ready, but only rolled his eyes. "_Fine_. Last round."

David nodded, and they sprang apart from each other. Nazim was the first to strike. Ribs, stomach, chest, ribs. David managed to fend off the rapid strikes. Nazim went for his head. Their wrists connected and David punched him on the chest successfully. The attack made his cousin reel and pause. David instantly shot forward, throwing a fist at Nazim's jaw. David saw Nazim's dark amber eyes flashed and, before he knew it, his arm was grabbed forward and he was, again, thrown flat on his back, Nazim's fist hovering just above his throat.

"Right here. Right now. You are _not_ David Nassau," Nazim panted, locks of hair spilling out from his short ponytail. "You are _only_ Usaim. My tight assed baby cousin. Now clean up and enjoy your party."

Nazim dropped his arm and stood up. David watched him walk out of the courtyard, heart still racing from their recent excursion. He sighed and let his head fall back, the sky a cloudless light blue sea above.

**:::**

David seated himself next to his aunt, sore but pleasantly relaxed. Mema gave him a smile and he returned the favor just as readily.

"I see that you and Grandma Tarub reached a compromise," he said by way of greeting. Nazim was in one of the lower tables, foot lifted on the bench, laughing with a bevy of men of mixed races. David would never admit it, nor would ever thank him for it, but the spar helped him loosen up.

"This one has a certain charm that I couldn't deny," Mema said as she lifted her arm, as if showing the loose sleeve, its painted multicolored symmetric pattern encased in a solid, soft teal border.

"It suits you, Mema."

"I could say the same to you. You always were more handsome in our garbs than in that drab northern fashion."

David didn't dare tell her that he preferred his normal attire than the layers of shirt, brocade and coat, and the pants, too, gave only the barest of comfort despite the high quality of its cloth. They were too baggy for his taste.

"And where is that general of yours?"

"Skulking around, one can only imagine."

"That man… if old age doesn't kill him that stick up his rump will. Too serious, that Torgal." Mema picked up a date and popped it into her mouth. "Do be careful you don't end up like him, cub."

"What's with you people and not calling things as they are?" Nazim asked just as he was climbing up to their table, abducting the servant girl from earlier by the wrist. "It's _ass_. Say it with me. _Ass_."

"Not everybody is as vulgar as you, fool. And haven't I forbid you to touch that little dove?"

"That's rich coming from you old hag. And I distinctly remember you said _tumble_, not touch. Isn't that right, peaches?"

The servant girl shook her head at Nazim, head bowed, wavy black hair swishing across her back. David immediately felt sorry for her. Mema did not call anyone 'dove' unless she intends to keep them as her 'pets', and Nazim… nothing short of a Collapse would stop him from getting under the girl's skirt.

Mema rolled her eyes, clearly exasperatedly. "Just as long you remember that. Now get yourself seated so we can finally begin the feast."

Nazim gave an exaggerated bow and made a beeline to the seat on Mema's other side, plopping on the wide pillow with a grace that can rival a plummeting sack of potatoes. He patted at his side and motioned for the servant to sit. The girl hesitantly did as she was told, drawing to herself, making herself as small as she could.

Mema stood up, taking her goblet with her. Silence quickly blanketed the bustling hall, all attention directed to the high table.

"Family, friends," she stared, her voice easily carrying across. "For the longest time, I have not seen my twin's sire. Busy as he was of his duties, and kept away due to a treaty born from paranoia. But tonight is a most happy affair. Tonight the Divines smile upon me and led him to this banquet." Mema turned to him and held her goblet up. "To my dearest nephew, Sabih Usaim Abd Al Rashid, I welcome you back with the warmest heart."

David smiled to his aunt, raising his goblet as well, resisting the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her forehead a hard battle. He hadn't realized how much he missed her till now.

"Welcome home, cub."

* * *

**Act IV: Festivities**

"_Spend winter with me." –'_David Nassau', Scattering Sand, Part II Act IV

**:::**

The feast was underway. Merriment was overflowing, wine more so, and the lively soft beats of _tombaks_ and strums of _setars _filled the hall. A _ney_ player was also present, and David had enjoyed much of her performance earlier. Though he held both flute and _ney_ in high regard, the latter had a certain rustic charm that reminded him of the desert.

Large golden platters of food were still being carried over to the tables. A servant came over to their table and placed a _khoresh_ in front of him. The exotic redolent of spices invaded his nose and it took all of him not to _attack_ the stew.

Mema gave him a large a helping, laughing. "I know it's your favorite."

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're almost drooling, cousin."

David ignored Nazim, and sliced into the tender lamb rib. The moment the meat met his taste buds—_bliss_. A gentle wave of spices spread throughout his mouth, the hint of tang and sweetness danced teasingly. The meat was firm, but melted as he chewed it away. A plate of perfectly shaped _chelow _topped with its _tah dig _was placed at his side, but he ignored the golden dome of rice and opted to take another bite of his lamb.

"The castle simply cannot produce the same exact taste."

"Of course, it _is_ a family secret," Mema said around her wine. "My offer for lessons still stands, just so you know."

"I rather not waste your time, Mema. I believe I inherited Mother's proficiency in cooking as well."

"Minnah wasn't that bad."

David chuckled. "She burned boiled eggs."

"And you do too?"

"I haven't tried, but I rather not have myself banned from the kitchens." Having free pass in the kitchen was not something he would gamble. They come in handy whenever he finds himself burning away the midnight oil.

Mema nodded, "Hmm."

They fell into a light conversation about his mother's rather disastrous cooking escapades while enjoying their food. He had a hard time keeping a straight face when Mema told him of a story about his mother's attempt to impress his father through her nonexistent cooking skills.

"I thought she had poisoned him! I swear Aldric went green."

From there their conversation travelled to Mema's trades in the nearby island countries. They were fruitful from the way she told it with subdued enthusiasm. Nazim would have contributed more to the subject, as he was the one who usually make the deals directly, their aunt only accompanying him whenever it required her actual presence, but he was most enamored with the servant girl to be bothered.

"_Go hifreann leat!_"

Their conversation was abruptly put to a halt by a shrill, enraged cry that came amidst the lower tables. David tore his eyes from his aunt to find who was starting a racket.

Two servant girls were arguing nearby, twins, from the north by the looks of it. The raven haired one was holding back her white haired sister. The latter was brimming with obvious murderous intent as she pointed and shouted what he supposed were obscenities at his cousin in a strange lilting tongue he did not recognize.

"_Silence!_"

Everything stilled and the hall hushed in a snap, as if a vacuum had sucked all the music and laughter out.

"You two. Step forward."

The two servant girls came closer, stopping by at the steps up to their table. David couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from pulling down. The absence of any modicum of respect from them grated him in every wrong way. The more irate one was practically snarling at Nazim, and the other was having a stare down with his aunt, her mouth in a petulant line.

"Your names."

"Hannah, mistress," Black said. "And this is my twin, Hinnah."

"I see. You are new?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I suggest you learn how to treat your betters if you do not want to find yourselves a head shorter," Mema said, words frosted and edged. "I will not tolerate any slight against my successor."

"With all due respect, _mistress_," the servant, Hinnah, all but spat. "Station nor status does not excuse ill bred manners. Our cousin is a lady already spoken for."

"Ladies—"

"Keep your mouth shut Nazim," Mema snapped then turned back to the two servants. "You dare say that I have not guided him rightly?"

"If the shoe fits. _Mistress._"

The whole hall cried foul at the insolence, his aunt held a hand to placate them. "And now you insult me in my own house. Give reason why I should not give Nazim leave to have his way."

"_You—_"

The black haired servant held back her incensed sister, in all appearance calm, but David could feel her anger in torrents. "What would you have us do so that we three may leave."

"Enlighten me, northerner," Mema said, the slight tilt of her head challenging. "What can you do?"

"We can do a great many things."

"Ah, I don't suppose entertaining a crowd is one of those _great_ many things."

"We've experienced as minstrels, but without proper instruments we wouldn't be able to produce the same effect."

"Make do with what you have is an age old adage." Mema turned to him, eyebrow lifted. "What say you, Usaim, to be treated to northerner's music?"

David paused and narrowed his eyes at his aunt. She was not as insulted as she let on. "It won't be new, but I don't mind."

"Good. You may start."

The two servants sashayed to the musicians, heads held high. They sorted through the instruments available, testing each. David thought that they would pick an _ud_, as it most resembled a lute, but the stringed instrument was ignored after a few strums in favour of percussions. The two were talking in hushed voices, perhaps discussing what they should perform.

"Nazim, I swear. If only you had even an ounce of manners left," David sighed.

"Peaches should have said that she had murderous guard dogs!"

"The girl is _mute_, you imbecile," Mema hissed. "Now quiet. _Both of you_. They are about to start."

The girls went back to the center, each with a handheld drum. They bended a knee and bowed their heads slightly, not breaking eye contact with his aunt, executing a perfect, if not contemptuous, curtsy. It gave impression that they had rendered work in court, or in a noble's household at the very least. Mema gave them leave to perform with a flick of her hand.

They started with a soft, rhythmic beat of their _mirwas_. They upped the beat as they bowed at each other and tapped their drums. Their hips move with a step of their feet, making their skirts swish around their legs leisurely.

"_'Sí do mhaimeo í, 'sí do mhaimeo í_

_'Sí do mhaimeo í cailleach an airgid_

_'Sí do mhaimeo í ó Bhail' Iorrais Mhóir í_

_'S chuir-feadh sí cóistí 'r bhóithre Chois Fharraige._"

David straightened his back, paying more attention to their unexpected performers. This was new. Their blended voices were pleasant to ears, not tiny pitched as was the new fad in the rest of the empire nowadays, only light and evenly modulated. He did understand a word of it, but he felt like he was being treated to—to... to something old_,_ _dead._ Fey.

"You planned this," David whispered to his aunt, not taking his eyes from the two girls.

"You give me too much credit, cub," Mema whispered back. "I was merely testing my new handmaids."

The twins altered in singing the foreign song's verses, and only chorusing in some parts. They reached a drum solo. One played the _mirwas_ while the other accompanied it with a dance reminiscent of a tap dance that David once saw in Elysion, only lighter footed. The other was given chance to dance while her sister played the drum, and then they both placed their drums on the ground and danced together in perfect synch, replacing the beats with hand claps.

They picked up the song again, singing from the chorus while dancing. Mema should have them do it properly next time. It would probably make their performance more enjoyable if they had the appropriate accompaniment as they said.

"_'Sí do mhaimeo í ó Bhail' Iorrais Mhóir í_

_'S chuir-feadh sí cóistí 'r bhóithre Chois Fharraige!"_

They finished the song in a solid note, and then gave a half bow, but not lowering their heads. David applauded them, beside him Mema was doing the same. Impudence aside, he was not one to deny a good performance when presented to him.

"Bravo ladies! Bravo!" Nazim applauded with eagerness. _Too eager_. "Now how about in the spirit of good faith, we forget all about this and let me have a dance with your lovely cousin, hmm?"

David almost planted his face on his hands for his cousin's audacity. The white haired servant seemed to have a bloodier response, but she was held at bay by her twin again.

"One dance. And we leave," she gritted, stating it to his aunt rather than his cousin.

Mema nodded. "As you wish."

"Perfect!" Nazim clapped his hands and proceeded to drag the mute servant to dance floor. He turned to the musicians and grinned. "Music!"

The strum of a _setar_ started a Balterossan folk song. Other guests lined in the dance floor as well. David sat back and watched the dancers moved into familiar steps. Nazim seemed to be having fun as he circled his partner in none too innocent movements. His hands were practically grazing her on parts he shouldn't touch, and the servant could only do her best to evade the unwanted touches. He felt sorry for the girl the second time that night.

"Are you sure this is wise?" he asked his aunt.

"What is?"

"You are about to let your new handmaids walk away."

"They are Caedmon's. I can request for them anytime I wish." She chuckled softly to herself, "Silly man. I told him to be discreet, but he took the most obvious route and all my new would be lambs."

David watched her drink from her goblet. "The Silver Falcons are here?"

"Yes, and you can tell the _fish_ that I am in no obligation to follow his precious congress."

"You are not making my job easier, Mema."

"As I should. Now be a darling and save the little dove from your cousin. I rather not be bereft of a successor as well."

David stood up and gave a bow to his aunt. "I am your humble servant."

The corners of his aunt's full lips lifted over at his antics and he left for the dance floor. It didn't require much effort to single out the troublesome pair. The servant girl was like a spot of snow amidst them deep honey colored southerners, and it was hard to miss his cousin's prattling, peacocking ways. He wondered not for the first time, and certainly not the last, _why_ he was related to the man.

David stepped into Nazim's place easily and sought for the servant's soft and clammy hand, firmly but gently fitting it into his own. His cousin squawked indignantly at the intrusion and David waved him off. "Consider any future debt of mine paid," he said motioning for the twins openly glowering at their direction.

Nazim muttered something of about wine and retreated away without further ado.

David led his partner to a less crowded spot, where they wouldn't bother the other dancers, and opted to dance her into the more familiar northern steps. Though the sways and twirls were so very far off and not at all complementing the music, it was obvious she didn't know how Balterossans dance to be able to put steps that would fit. .

The servant kept her head low, chin almost touching her collar, keeping him from seeing her face. Her nervousness was clearly projected on how her hands trembled slightly, and how she seemed to stop breathing in each turn.

"Do not fret, miss. Your virtue is safe with me. I give you my word."

Her breath hitched at that.

David studied his partner, not exactly knowing how he should take her reaction. She smelled nice, at the very least, of faint summer blooms, and not of the heady smelling perfume that women her age usually wore nowadays. It was rather curious, though. What did Nazim saw in her? If all the unwanted letters his cousin sent him was anything to go by, Nazim was one to prefer well endowed women. This dove, on the other hand, could be easily mistaken for a young man had she disguised herself as such.

She could have bounded her bosom and none would be the wiser. Her shoulders only hinted of modest femininity, narrow but still broad for a lady conscious of her own vanity. She had a thin waist, but it tapered and did not flare to meet her hips. Maybe it was her almost flustered shyness, and painfully innocent nuances that made her alluring? Some men had a certain taste for those, perhaps his cousin was one of them. That, and coupled with a pretty face…

"You have a strange manner of dancing, miss. From where I'm from, we don't watch our feet," he said offhandedly above her head.

The servant girl seemed to ignore him, leaving a bubble of silence between them as he swayed her to the music. How very rude of her. "Would you not allow me even a glimpse of my partner?"

A furious shake of the head was what he got for a reply. The girl drew back from him as though wanting nothing more than to leave. David was not about to let her, interest now piqued. She clearly did not want something to be seen.

With a quick step, David fluidly twirled her around and caught her in a dip, her hands flying to his neck for anchor. The world stopped. His eyes widened, mouth going dry, shock and horror becoming one.

"…R-_Rush?_"

Frantic, cloud gray eyes mirrored his own.

**:::**

David did not wait for the music to stop to drag Rush out of the hall, ignoring all the bewildered murmurs of relatives and family acquaintances alike. He turned from a corridor to the next, avoiding servants and guards, mindful that he has a sure grip on the boy's thin wrist. What was Rush doing here? _And_ _Nazim!_ That lecherous bastard! Cousin or no, he'll gut him the next their paths crossed.

He slowed down when he picked up a mild sweet scent. Not too far now, he could already see the willows' silhouette beckoning at the end of the hallway. Nipping over the distance quickly, David stopped only when he and Rush entered the inner garden, and only letting go when he situated himself between Rush and the only exit.

Rush had his head low, chewing his lower lip, glancing fleetingly around the small garden and never at him.

"Explain."

Rush flinched like a child reprimanded and stopped fidgeting, but did not say anything.

"I'm waiting, Rush," David prompted, making his tone stern, the shadows shifting softly under the torchlight.

Still, Rush said nothing, seemingly contented on abusing his lower lip. David waited for few moments before the boy produced a small piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal. He wrote in clean strokes and held the parchment for David's inspection.

'_Helping a friend. Caedmon._'

"Caedmon of the Silver Falcons," David clarified.

Rush nodded, and David felt a headache coming. The boy had been telling him about a Caedmon, but he never expected it to be _that _Caedmon. This would teach him not to dismiss Rush's acquaintances so easily. David clicked his tongue. But the vigilante hardly concerned him. It was the fact that Rush was in Balterossa. Right here in Bertrude's territory. Right where she could sink her claws into him.

They may be allies, but it would be his folly to completely trust the woman.

Rush probably mistook his silence for something else. Anger, annoyance, he didn't know for sure. David only belatedly realized that Rush was telling him that he didn't know he would be here, from all the flailing the boy was doing. David sighed. Rush was probably more worried, embarrassed more likely, about having been caught in girl's clothing than anything else.

David shrugged off his coat and draped it over Rush. He was wearing too little for his liking. He guided the boy by the small of his back to one of the stone benches. They sat in silence.

He gave the boy a discreet look. Rush apparently didn't know what to do with his hands as he was wringing them out anxiously as he would a drenched cloth that refused to be dried. "This is temporary? You being mute."

A nod.

"How long?"

Rush took a moment before he shake his head and mouthed that he didn't know. Then and there it was decided that it will be Pagus they see first thing when they arrived back in Athlum.

They lapse into another silence. David tried to make up his mind of what he thought of this situation they found themselves in. In any other time he would have found it hilarious, and would relentlessly tease Rush about it until he resembled a ripe tomato. The boy blushed too easily, his fair complexion only encouraging the telltale reaction. Old Duke Hermeien would certainly have a hard time teaching his grandson the ways of a court…

David leaned back and stared up to nothingness, hand propped up to support his weight. A piece of parchment was placed on his lap, light as a feather. He gave it a once over and returned his gaze back to the inky blue sky. "You're pretty in a dress," he remarked nonchalantly.

Rush punched him lightly in the arm making David turn his full attention back at him. A scowl marred the boy's features, but the furious, soft red streak stained streak across his cheeks took all of its seriousness away. "I've always been taller, Rush."

The boy shook his head, denying what he said. David shrugged. Rush probably would only barely reach his brows now thanks to Pagus' tonics. "I try to watch out for you, Rush. You know that. But I cannot always be at hand to help you, especially when you so willingly find trouble."

Rush's shoulders slumped as he stewed over his words. It was the truth. Most especially now that there were factions interested in having a green duke in their arsenal. Naivety and idealism were never a good combination in court. They drew veteran players to a new pawn like maggots to rotting flesh.

Rush let another length of silence slither between them before he felt a tug on his sleeve. "Sorry," the boy voicelessly said.

David sighed for probably the hundredth time that night, and reached for Rush's head, slipping the white lily clip off his hair. He didn't like the idea of Rush belonging to someone else even if it was for a ruse.

"Winter celebrations in Athlum are a sight to see," he said in a stride, nailing the previous subject behind them.

Rush tilted his head to the side at the random comment. David smiled wanly and enlightened him of how Athlum celebrates her winters.

The whole of Xiphos Way will be decked with vibrant lights, and pipes, violins, flutes and percussions always playing. There would be dancing in the streets, and a fair at the square for games. Food will be abundant, the smell of apple pies most distinct, their crusts light and flaky. Part of the castle will be open for the public, the courtyard, especially, where musicals and plays will be performed. And when the city finally decides to sleep, smoke will be rising from chimneys in thin, wispy white ribbons, and the lamps would light the streets in numerous soft yellow dots.

When he finished, Rush was his captive audience. He smiled at the vibrant excitement coming from the boy. He looked at him quietly. "Spend winter with me."

Rush blinked at him and then laughed, David missing the sweet sound already. The boy wrote something in his parchment and presented it to him, grinning widely.

'_You're stuck with me all year round._'

David gave a chuckle, hoping he hadn't let any irony slipped out. _All year round..._

On the first day of the new year, Rush will leave him.

* * *

**Act V: Burden**

**:::**

David climbed up a flight of stairs to the second floor, steps echoing, the torches adorning the wall illuminating the way in patches. It was already late, but he can still hear the distant, muted cheers in the main hall. The celebration was nearing its end, though, and David was sure that those few left to enjoy it were those that didn't mind spending the night on top of tables, wasted and ill come morning.

He hadn't left Rush's side ever since they fled to the inner garden, choosing the boy's company rather than returning to the festivities. They spend their time beside the willows, with him telling stories of his few month long stays in the estate during his childhood. Rush could only contribute with a soundless laugh or a bright smile, but David raveled under the innocent sincerity of the little gestures. He took note, with resigned amusement, that the boy seemed to most enjoy the ones involving Nazim and how he always manages to land them into this and that trouble.

He flicked Rush's forehead when the latter doubled over on the story that one time Master Jabbar made them kneel on salt for hours, arms stretched apart with a pail of water weighing each hand. The old man was most furious when Nazim jilted their lesson to fool around in the less wholesome part of Spirale Market. David had been most unfortunate to be dragged by the insufferable idiot, thus endured the punishment with him.

When the midnight bell rang, David regretfully ended their time together and called Torgal out from his hiding. Rush jumped behind him when the sovani appeared seemingly out of thin air. He only laughed at Rush's reaction, though he could hardly blame him for behaving in such a way. Torgal had a knack in making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The only thing keeping David from being surprised anymore was the fact that he was practically raised by the man.

Torgal left with a nod after that, taking Rush with him to one of Balterossa's most discreet inns. It was not wise to have Rush stay in his aunt's home, especially with Nazim prowling about, no doubt too drunk to know which quarters was his own and to discern his bedmate. And Mema… he didn't know what to expect from her. It was never a secret that she and his mother were in familiar terms with Bertrude, having grown up with the woman. A fact that encouraged him before, and cause him worry now.

David paused by a room, light seeped underneath its door and soft voices could be heard from inside. He furrowed his brows. This was his aunt's study. The talking stopped and gentle footsteps replaced it. The door gently swung open. David came face to face with the towering frame of the leader of the Silver Falcons.

"Master Usaim… or should it be Lord Nassau?" the white furred sovani greeted.

"Whichever you prefer tonight, sir."

The man considered him for a second before making up his mind. "Then, Master Usaim. A fine evening."

"Usaim, cub, come inside," his aunt called from the room before he could reply to the man.

Caedmon bowed his head and began walking away. David came into the room, the distinct smell of scented oil and aging parchment welcoming him. Fire was crackling in the granite, forge-like hearth, basking the room a dim glow. His aunt was seated in her desk, bended over a document, quill in hand and a lit candle at her side. The large window behind her was covered with a heavy set of dyed draperies.

"Do sit and help yourself with some milk," she said not looking up.

David seated himself on a single settee by the fireplace, but ignored the milk on the dark rosewood table. "Isn't it a little too late to be working?"

"Does coin ever sleep, darling?"

"I suppose not…" he murmured.

His aunt paused, quill hovering over the parchment, and then continued just as quickly. "Don't worry cub, this one only needs my immediate attention. Lynmir had been awfully… hm… _aloof_ as of late."

David searched his memory for a short moment, and remembered that his aunt had a few business associates there. Lynmir had a quarry for extracting and grounding titan powder, and was home of much expensive dyes and silks.

For a while the only sound was the soft scratches of quill on parchment. David busied himself by staring at the fire lick and eat away the wood, almost lulling himself to sleep. His peace was disrupted when his aunt aired her document to dry.

"Your coat?"

"I gave it to a friend."

"I see."

David watched his aunt, eyes in half mast, not in the right mind to worry about what exactly it was she did see. Though he should, but it had been a long day. If she wasn't going to pry, he wasn't about to tattle. She placed the document back on her desk and heated some red wax over the candle. She poured the wax at the bottom of the document and stamped her seal on it.

His aunt stood up and made a beeline towards one of the tall cabinets. She kneeled to its lower compartments and procured a large, ebonwood case. She placed the case on the table in front of him, the fire almost reflected on its smooth, polished surface.

"Open it," she urged with a motion of her hand as she seated herself on the settee opposite him.

David glanced at her before opening the gold latch. He lifted the lid and the sharp glint of metal winked at him.

A pair of scimitars lay in a dark velvet bed, identical in every way; from its red leather bound grip to its sharp pointed tip. He let his fingers hover over the curved blade, and then let them ran across the engraved, snake-like markings that adorned its back edge. He lifted one with both hands experimentally. Balanced. It weighed considerably, but not overtly so that it would impair the speed and flexibility of its wielder. David tilted the blade slightly and it shone like pure silver.

"They're beautiful, Mema," he murmured, awed.

"They are called Noble Oath. I take it that you like them."

David formed the name in his mouth, almost whispering it. "Very much so, thank you." He placed the blade back to its case. "Is it Imperium? Does it have a core?"

"No, and not Imperium. It's Jewel Steel."

"You mean…?"

His aunt laughed softly and walked to his side. "No… Sadly Jewel Steel remains too fickle for me to forge, and as you know they are of the very rare and limited variety, not at all suitable for practicing." She sat on the armrest of his settee. "Nazim forged them."

David opened his mouth then closed it, at a loss for words. Jewel Steel was reputed to be nearly impossible to forge, and even his aunt, recognized as a master swordsmith, had been trying for years and failed to bend the metal to her will. And Nazim, his lazy, sleazy, foolhardy cousin only five years his senior, did not only forge a single blade, but made identical twins.

"My successor should, at the very least, be a better swordsmith than I am."

His aunt bended over and picked one of the blades, holding it for the both of them. "Loose as that fool is, he is a remarkable genius," she said, a subtle hint of pride coloring her words. She traced her fingers across the black engravings on the sword. "These markings… can you read them?'

"Aren't they only nonsensical squiggles?"

"I thought so too," she said, amused. "It's Dhat al Jnan's language…"

"Old Balterossa."

Mema made a noncommittal sound and translated the dead words etched on the sword quietly:

"_Your life is your burden. Carry it. Endure it. Live it._"

Her voice faded and only the crackling fire and ticking of the clock could be heard. David saw the sword anew. Noble Oath indeed…

Mema returned the sword back to its case with the same care she would a newborn pup. "We meant to give them to you during the feast, but you never did come back."

"I apologize… I was preoccupied."

"Had your wicked way with that servant, didn't you?"

His jaw slackened. "_I_—no. I wouldn't…!"

"I was only teasing, I know you wouldn't." She stroked his head tenderly, carding her fingers through his hair, and kissed him above his brow. "It's time for bed for you."

David watched her get up and amble back to her desk. "And you?"

"In a while perhaps… Go ahead and sleep, cub. You had a long day."

He didn't argue further, knowing his aunt will not cave to any cajoling. He murmured his goodnight as she leafed through another set of documents. He waited a moment for hers, but she seemed too absorbed with her task at hand.

David walked towards the door and pulled at the ring knob, almost stepping out.

"Usaim."

He looked back at his aunt. A somber expression had completely overtaken her features.

"…Goodnight."

"Goodnight to you too, Mema," he replied bowing his head to her and then turned around.

"Usaim, cub, wait."

David turned around to face her again, worry and hesitation now clearly visible in the fine lines of her face. He waited for her to speak.

"Usaim—_David_, darling…" she breathed deeply. "When the time comes… Do what needs done."

He bowed his head again and bid her goodnight, knowing her words would haunt him tonight and the many nights to come.

**:::**

The carriage jolted from a particularly deep rut, David looked down at his shoulder. Rush showed no sign of stirring from his sleep. He had been asleep since they have transported from that Remnant sphere in Yamarn Plains. He looked very much comfortable.

The day after the feast was interesting to say the least. David was able to snag another sparring match with Nazim. He still lost, but not as pathetic as the first and even managed to 'accidentally' groin Nazim. His cousin crumpled over and David spent no thoughts of remorse. Despite the most gracious gift, the bastard _deserved_ it.

Later then, he managed to somewhat confront Mema about her knowledge in Bertrude's machination. She admitted to it readily, but he didn't press further. He didn't want to discuss it too deeply with her just yet. They were bound to breach subjects he wasn't ready to face himself.

Mema took him to Ruang Sak's circus after an early supper. The foreigner recognized him immediately, and they were introduced to the rest of his family: his wife, Nong Yao, and his two adopted daughters, Chimlin and Hansa. David had a feeling the two little chicks didn't like him that much. Ngoen was busy elsewhere, the man said.

David expected them to be a considerably numbered troupe, basing on how large their main tent looked from afar, but upon seeing them up close, they'd be able to easily fill out a fourth of Athlum.

After the show Ruang Sak approached him and gave him a cask of their homemade wine for his table, and a trinket, a cameo of a bouquet of rose-like blooms he did not recognize, for his so called 'fair maiden.' Mema mercifully did not comment anything about it, but required him to tell her how he met the foreigner.

She did not ask, however, not even once, of his general, as if not finding it strange that the man was nowhere to be seen. There were only two reasons as to why she wouldn't ask anything: one, she already knew, and two, she didn't care. David betted for the first, as it usually was the case.

The next he saw his general and Rush was after saying goodbye to his Balterossan family. It would have been a short affair, hadn't it been for Nazim. David swore the man could be so damn _clingy_.

He met up with Rush and Torgal in Balterossa's main gates, the former thankfully out of those scraps of cloth and wore a modest dark tunic and light vest, matching it with boots and trousers. From there they made their way back home. Passing through the Southwestern Road and then stopping over at Elysion. They were to visit Rush's parents, but upon coming to the Academy they were advised that they had left for Nagapur days ago. David released a breath he unknowingly held at the news, but his hands remained chilled till later that evening. Rush never noticed anything.

They stayed for a day in the continent's central city, dedicating to buying additional gifts for those left at home. Emmy specifically told him that she wants a new jar of metal polish sold in this shop or the other. He bought her an autumn dress instead, complete with a feathered hat and a lacy parasol. He could already hear the tongue lashing while the items were being boxed.

They continued their journey early morning the next day and spent the night in a traveler's lodge halfway to the transporter for Ivory Peaks. The rest of their way home was without incident, except for those raptors in said limestone cliff side two days ago. Fortunately, the monsters were dispatched without much effort.

David adjusted his shoulder slightly, trying to get even a little blood to circulate. It went numb ways ago, having been made into a makeshift pillow all afternoon. Though, he'd rather have it numb than have Rush bump his head on the carriage window every other second. Across him Torgal feigned sleep, both sets of arms crossed, ears twitching to every sound, alert to any monsters that they might encounter in the last stretch to home.

David looked outside the small window. The fields across the hills were orange tinged, patchwork quilts, a few farmers dotted it, heaving their plows and ready to call it a day. The sun was melting into a bright russet line beyond the hills, and Athlum was finally in the horizon.

* * *

**Scattering Sand**

**End of Part II**

* * *

**End Notes:** (1) _'Sí do mhaimeo í'_ (The Wealthy Widow) is a Celtic Folksong (Irish), it has been sung by a number of artists and you can readily check it in youtube, translation in Celtic Lyrics Corner (or just google it). (2) _Krav Maga_ is real. Discovery Channel's 'Human Weapon' featured said style, video is also available in youtube. (3) The specific names Dvaravati and Ayuthaya are of Thai origin. (4) If you want to know what the 'squiggle' on _Noble Oath_ looks like go to googletranslate and copy paste the whole quote and then translate it to Arabic, audio pronunciation is also available.

**A/N:** Yah, couldn't resist a little bit of DaSh in the end… anyway, how was it? Like it? Hate it? Don't care much about it? …Though I'm really particular with the OCs, are they too much? Or are they okay? Should I tone them down?

So yah, I gave David a lot of stuff and the world became bigger...

Fatin had me giggling like a loon while typing, the woes I put my favorite seme in. ("_Stretches of meadows? _Seriously? What are you, some kind of livestock for grazing?" –what I believe would be David's exact sentiments).

I found a happy medium writing in David's POV.

Will be continued…?

…

…

Well, yah, of course, go play disc two. As for after that… Well Part II was teeming with foreshadowing, and there's a feature summary, too… you decide.

-mimic shalle


	3. Cri de Couer: Blood and Strife

**Chapter One**

**David**

**:::o:::**

David held out a hand, halting his companions' dickering over bath rations. His eyes searched beyond the thicket of trees. "_Sh_. We have company."

He reached over his back, hand hovering over one of the hilts of his scimitars. Behind him Eli and Brad stilled, dirt crunching under their feet as they adjusted their stance. A shadow darted between the trees. The new medic's breath hitched.

The underbrush rustled. The shadow lunged out of the forest shade. A divain fell on the ground, dead, scimitar lodged firmly into its head, splitting it until the neck.

"_Wow_. Dinner," Eli said.

* * *

**Cri de Coeur: Blood and Strife**

_**Summary**_

Celapaleis, its vassal states… Temes, Belmere, Foxhall._ Athlum._ The Northwest has fallen and the future of the empire lies in a precarious balance. The turning point of the Dvaravati War as traversed by a young man with only a single clue to who he is, as endured by a prisoner of war burdened to survive, and as fought by a broken leader who finally let go and became its hero.

**Story rated M for language and strong themes of violence and sex.**


End file.
